


A Time and Place for Misbehavior

by BeautifullyObsessed



Category: Actor RPF, Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: 2014 British GQ Awards, 2014 British GQ Man of the Year Awards, AU Romance, Benedict sweet Benedict, Champagne, Desire, Dom Perignon, Embarassment, F/M, Hungover, I swore I'd never write an RPF but the idea was just too rich to resist, In Vino Veritas, Lust, Miscarriage, Movie Premiere, NSFW, Passion, Red Carpet, Romance, Smut, Temporary Amnesia, Texting, The Man makes me break my rules at every turn, a bit of misbehavior, a sympathetic soul, absence makes the heart grow fonder, but how warm were his lips after all?, champagne going straight to one's head--or is it to one's heart?, confrontation with an ex, consummation, did they or didn't they?, dinner date, electronic flirtation, flirtation, flirtation & something deeper, greatest Actor of his generation, hangover induced amnesia, heat of the moment, intemperate behavior, lips that taste like sugarplum, motorbike ride, needing a smoke, pregnancy loss, so what if?, sugarplum, the prelude to a great first kiss, the right timing at last, too much to drink, trifling flattery, true admiration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 90,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2379389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifullyObsessed/pseuds/BeautifullyObsessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So what if?</p><p>What might it be like if our hero had a bit too much to drink at a public forum, and babbled a bit on the podium?  We would find it adorable of course, but how would he feel?  Based loosely on Benedict's acceptance speech at the 2014 British GQ Man of the Year Awards.  The unlikeliest of romances, a bit of fluff to begin with, mature content to follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Again I must say: I have sworn all along I would not write RPF. To be frank, I don't even let my mind go there, fantasy or otherwise. And yet as has happened since I discovered this marvelous Man, I'm breaking my rules left & right. I'm as Cumberbatched as can be; like a hurricane it's taken me, and he's the delicious eye at the center of the storm I simply cannot escape. Heaven have mercy!

Damn, he _really_ needed a cigarette right now.  He’d been doing his best to limit himself to a half dozen a day or less, and most days he’d managed that just fine.  Unless some sort of stress came into play—well, stress beyond the usual level that had kicked in when his fame exploded exponentially four years ago.  And he thought he almost always handled it with aplomb, juggling his dedication to work and maintaining the quality he demanded of himself, with trying his damndest to keep his private life private _and_ present an honest public image to the ever-growing swell of fans.  The occasional ciggy was absolutely justified, as long as he was discreet about it, for he knew there were impressionable young women among the many who called themselves “Cumberbitches” (although he had more than once stated for the record that he considered _that_ a degrading term, urging his fans to find a gentler name for themselves, he still did admit--to himself--that he derived a _small_ degree of manly satisfaction from it), and he didn’t want to influence anyone into taking on a vice of any sort, in imitation of his own.

He’d certainly mucked things up a bit tonight though—with only himself to blame--and the ensuing rise in stress demanded a hit of nicotine. He was only human after all, and _everyone_ deserves to be allowed their blunders—he’d been on a frenetic schedule for so long, and so had looked forward to this evening as a welcome chance to let loose, within reason of course.  But a couple of drinks to start with became a few too many more as he’d waited to ascend the podium, and he was, quite frankly, fairly sloshed when his time arrived.  Not that he was the only one, but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed about the disjointed way he had rambled on in the two minutes that he’d had to speak.  Definitely _not_ among his finest.    

The evening had gone on from there, and in the big picture he knew his performance didn’t matter all that much, even as he replayed the most embarrassing seconds of it in his mind.  It didn’t stop him ordering another Old-Fashioned, or backslapping, hail hardy and well met, with the score of friends present at the banquet.  Those that knew him best just laughed and shook their heads, seeing his behavior as a tad atypical, but surely within reason.

But for the smoke; the urge wasn’t going away anytime soon, and he found himself looking for a break in the conversation so he might excuse himself and find a private spot to indulge.  Never easy in the city, with its many prohibitions regarding smoking, but not entirely impossible.  He was watching the flow of the wait staff as they shuttled from the hall to the kitchen, bussing the dessert dishes as they went.  It occurred to him he might pass through the kitchen and find a quiet spot just outside to have a quick drag.  Attired as he was—all in black, Spencer Hart—he thought it likely he might even go unnoticed, as the servers were also clad in black.  Seeing his chance, Benedict set the glass and metal award upon the nearest table, and headed for the kitchen.  His progress was held up twice on the way--industry acquaintances wishing to offer congratulations of one sort or another, but that was the necessary nature of the business end of the Art that was his bread and butter.

He walked through a set of swinging doors, glancing around him at a hive of activity.  Cooks and dishwashers bustling about, clearly concluding their tasks for the evening.  Some servers clustered by the service bar, picking up drink orders, and others engaged in casual conversations, as their night’s work would shortly be complete.  He nodded to the few who marked his passage, projecting the confidence of someone being exactly where they were supposed to be.  No one stopped him to question his presence in the kitchen.

He spotted a second set of swinging doors, and guessed those would lead him to an access corridor, and hopefully to a back entrance to the building.  He glanced back over his shoulder to confirm he was still passing unobserved, hitting both doors with his hands as he did so. There was slight resistance on the left, followed by a yelp and a thump.  Shit, he thought, _this_ can’t be good. 


	2. Chapter 2

On the other side of the door, on the floor of the dimly lit corridor, was the server from his table, the one that had made her fair share of cheeky comments.  She had landed squarely on her bottom, likely more surprised than hurt, and he immediately sputtered an apology, reaching down to help her up.  She grabbed his hand before looking up, starting to say she was fine, no problem at all—but when she did peer his way, she paused only a moment before starting to laugh, the sound so pretty and sincere, that without a thought, he joined right in.

 “I’m so, so sorry,” he told her, as she stood now before him, one corner of her mouth quirked up with amusement “are you alright?”

She laughed again, lightly this time, still holding onto the hand he had given her, “Not to worry, I’m fine.”  Her smile broadened, as she shook her head, “Knocked on my arse by Benedict Cumberbatch.  A girl couldn’t ask for a better way to end her day.”

He chuckled at that, realizing her hand remained in his, releasing it as he told her, “Oh, I can think of a better way or two.”  Her eyes widened in response, and he swiftly asked himself ‘why the _hell_ did I just say that?’  But it only made her smile all the more charmingly, and his need for a smoke was suddenly not so dire after all.

They both started to speak, eager, perhaps even anxious, to fill the pregnant pause between them.  Benedict shook his head, grinning while ceding the floor to her with an elegant sweep of his hand.  She nodded in acceptance, and then asked him, “Slipping out the back for a smoke, Mr. Cumberbatch?” arching a brow, t’sking softly at his foible, “You may want to rethink that; the boys in the alley are smoking something a little headier, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to get caught mixing with that lot.”

“Oh.”  Well, that did present a challenge, but something told him this pert little thing before him might already be considering an alternative.  And indeed, she leaned in closer to tell him in a confidential tone, “but I think I know a spot that might do in a pinch.”

He tilted his head, intrigued as much with her suggestion as the playful light of her eyes, “Do tell,” he answered, his voice dropping as well, unconsciously falling into the velvet timbre he was famous for.  She drew a quick, surprised breath, and blinked guilelessly a time or two before replying, “Follow me.”  She immediately started down the hall, quickly moving away from him.  He looked back over his shoulder again, before following her, catching up easily, not wanting to lose sight of her in the diffusely lit corridor.

At the end of the hall was a short set of stairs, which he presumed led to a basement.  The young woman turned back to him when she reached the bottom of the stairs, “Employee break room, lockers, and the loo are all down here.  Huge contrast to the posh upstairs.”  They passed an open doorway where the light of a television flickered in the empty room, continuing on until they reached the locker room. “Loo is this way,” she told him, walking past rows of lockers to reach the small restroom in the back.  Two signs hung on the door:  “Employees are reminded to wash their hands before returning to work!” and “NO SMOKING WHATSOEVER”.  Someone had drawn a crude stick figure, cigarette in hand, on that sign, and inked a speech bubble above it with “Okay kids, smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em”, in ironic counterpoint. 

His escort rapped lightly on the door, asking “Anyone in there?” getting no response.  She pushed the door open, to usher him inside.  The overheads flickered on as they entered, to reveal a dank little room, sinks of dirty porcelain, three stalls, and an open window set high up in the wall of the far end.  There was a shelf beneath the window, with several ashtrays very full of cigarette butts.  The tawdriness of the place left him questioning whether the smoke was even worth it.

She must have seen his hesitance, for she leaned against a sink, telling him, “Go on now, you’ve seen the worst of it.  You might as well indulge, and I won’t even tell a soul.”  The mirth in her eyes matched her honest smile, and he felt himself relax enough to follow as she instructed.  He pulled his lighter out, then looked back to her, “Would you…?”, but she was nodding ‘no’ the moment he’d asked.  He took a roll-up from his jacket breast pocket (he’d brought three in all, for just in case), closing his eyes and inhaling deeply as he lit it.  It felt good going down, and he held the smoke in, savoring it in full, before exhaling.  He opened his eyes, to find her watching him, but she cast her eyes down as soon as she realized he’d noticed.  It made her appear more spontaneously shy than intentionally coy, and it was a look that fit her well.

She glanced back to him, tucking her dark hair behind her ear.  “Annika” she told him, answering his unspoken query, “My name’s Annika, but most of my friends just call me Anni.”  He liked the forthright way she spoke.  He moved the cigarette to his left hand, stepping towards her as he extended the right to shake her hand. “Good to meet you, Anni.”  Again, the touch of their hands lingered agreeably, and he thought ‘well, why shouldn’t it?’  A pretty woman was ever a weak spot for him, and she seemed quite bright, he reflected, remembering the words that had passed between them as she’d served his table.  “I guess I owe you my thanks,” he said warmly, not ready yet to relax his hold upon her.  She didn’t seem to mind.

“Oh, it’s been my great pleasure, Mr. Cumberbatch,” she declared without hesitation, her voice now sounding just a little husky.  Is she doing that on purpose, he wondered, because he hadn’t noticed it earlier.  It wasn’t an unusual thing to have women of all sorts—strangers all—affect that tone with him, and most often when they did, he considered it only a fond perk of the glamour that came with the success of his work.  Never to be taken too seriously, he’d concluded long ago.  Anni continued, unaware of his train of thought, “You did seem a little lost, and it would’ve been a…” she stopped to ponder how to proceed, “…disservice, not to help where I could.”  She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, before letting it go.

“Well, I do appreciate it,” he reiterated, tapping ash into the closest ashtray.  “I think I embarrassed myself enough for the evening already, and being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he shrugged, “might’ve made matters worse.”  He chuckled, telling her, “And that’s not even considering the hell I’m going to catch from my publicist over my acceptance speech.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” she replied with a grin and a soft giggle, “I think most of your fans find just about everything you do very…hmmm…endearing.”

He made a quiet scoffing sound, although inside he knew she was fairly spot on in that assessment.  He had a strong feeling she numbered herself among that group, but thankfully she didn’t strike him as a groupie.  Anni had an ease about her that made him feel…comfortable.  And she’d been right when she had warned him at table to slow down with the drinking, although he hadn’t had the wisdom to heed her advice.  Perhaps there was more to her than met the eye?

“Is this your fulltime job?” he asked, guessing that it might not be.  Her sigh sounded of exasperation, and she met his eye when answering, “It pays the bills, and it can be fun at times,” she let the thought linger, her half-smile conveying a world of innuendo, “especially at times like these.”  Then she looked down, finding a sudden fascination with her shoes, and he heard a hint of sadness as she continued, “It’s not where my heart is, but it’ll do for now.”

The riddle she presented made him want to ask, but he thought perhaps that would be too presumptuous on such a short meeting.  His cigarette had burned quite down—of course, when things had just started to get interesting. He stubbed the butt out in the overflowing ashtray, wishing he had a strong enough excuse to light another and thus prolong their chat.  

Seeing he had finished his smoke, Anni sighed again—was that an equal share of disappointment, he wondered—as she asked, “Shall we then?” pointing towards the bathroom door.

“Oh, right,” he nodded, “of course.”  He realized she’d likely only stayed as a courtesy to him; she probably even had things she was supposed to be doing that he was keeping her from.  Silence followed them through the locker room and the hallway leading out.

At the base of the stairs, he touched her shoulder lightly, and she turned her attention back to him.  Though the light was dim, he thought she looked pleasantly surprised.  “Look,” he said quietly, “there are a couple after-parties, and um…”  What exactly _was_ he aiming for here?  To give her a further show of gratitude? Or maybe a just a chance to see her smile again?  Either way, he needed to finish his thought, “…well, I could probably use a guardian angel of sorts—you know, to um…keep me getting further in dutch.”

Anni looked as though she thought he sounded as contrived as he felt he’d been, but at the same time her eyes widened as though the prospect pleased her.  He added his best sheepish grin, hoping it might tip the scales in his favor, “You might be the very girl for the job.” The slow smile that grew upon her face showed her delight before she could even reply.

“But I really shouldn’t,” she said, sounding a little pouty, “it would look silly for you to take me along, don’t you think?  Especially dressed this way.”  Though she was well put together—black blouse and pants, the small hints of gold of her buttons and tie matching the colors of the event--he had to admit, as charming as the notion was, it wasn’t practical at all.  Disappointed, he nodded, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”  They began to climb the stairs, dispiritedly.    

Reaching the landing, he stopped her again, “You know, I don’t actually _have_ to go to the after-parties,”  His speech picked up steam as he saw Anni open up to his suggestion, “I mean, I probably owe you at least a drink, and we don’t need a party for that now, do we?”  Anni’s head was tilted appraisingly as she listened, a brow arched coquettishly, biting her lip upon a sly smile. “Maybe we could find a quiet little spot?” Benedict could feel the momentum was all in his favor now, “Someplace I could redeem my bad behavior.” Or, he thought wryly, someplace where bad behavior might not be so frowned upon.  He hoped his face had _not_ telegraphed that naughty little thought.

If it had, Anni either didn’t notice, or if he was lucky, secretly agreed.  She nodded vigorously though, which was all the answer he needed—for the moment.

_(to be continued)_


	3. Chapter 3

Of course he had a driver; Anni would have expected no less, especially considering the nature of the evening’s event and that drink usually flowed quite freely throughout.  She’d been warned what to expect, and that her discretion would be a valuable commodity to those in attendance.  It was a job she had known she’d enjoy without question, and believed it might lead to more of the same or better, if she played her cards right.  But she’d never dreamed she’d be sliding into the sumptuous back seat of a Jaguar Luxury Sedan, alongside one of England’s most sought after celebrities (and one, she thought toothsomely, she’d found undeniably attractive, well before this night).  If this was a fairy tale, then tonight she was Cinderella on her way to the Ball, but this Prince was already at her side.  Not that his asking her along meant anything more than what he’d stated; as exciting as this was, she intended to focus on the reality of the evening, and not a schoolgirl notion of the romantic.  Anni immediately banished the Cinderella metaphor from her mind.

After Benedict had asked if she’d go along with him for a drink or two, Anni realized she was still on the clock.  There was only a little side work left, but if he wanted to leave right away, she’d be walking out on that.  That obligation only made her pause a moment; there was no way on earth she was going to miss the opportunity to pick the brain of the man she considered to be the greatest Actor of his generation.  No way in hell.  She was as fascinated in possibly discussing the craft with him (if he wouldn’t mind, of course, for perhaps it was the kind of question he got so often he’d become bored and quickly decide her company wasn’t all that special) as just watching him up close--for as handsome as he appeared on screen, it didn’t do him the justice of seeing him in the flesh.  Strike that thought, Anni told herself; there will be _no_ thinking of his flesh, even sitting side by side in his car, even if his hand should accidentally brush against hers once again. 

So she had told him she needed to punch out and get her backpack and jacket from her locker, asking him if she could meet him upstairs.  He’d agreed with an easy, charming smile that made her heart dance a quick little two-step.  But he did let her know they had to proceed discreetly, as there were likely several paparazzi lingering outside the opera house, and he’d rather avoid their notice, more for her sake than his own.  Anni nodded in agreement, “Tell me what you want,” realizing there was a blatant double entendre in her statement, and grateful that he hadn’t given it obvious notice.  He asked if she wouldn’t mind if his car swung around to the back of the building to pick her up, and told her to give him about ten minutes to pull around.

That worked just as well for Anni.  It gave her a chance to pop into the loo and freshen her make-up, although not too much; just a hint more of lip gloss and blush, pulling her hair out of its workaday clip and finger-tousling it, and adding a light spritz of her cologne at the last.  She didn’t want to smell of the foods she’d been serving, for that might be unpleasant, and she wanted to make an intelligent, savvy impression.

Anni had stepped out the alleyway door, biting her nails a bit, now slightly nervous that this thing was actually going to happen.  True to his word, the car had pulled around, and Benedict had gotten out himself to hold the door for her.  No surprise there, she thought, his reputation was that of an impeccable gentleman.

He waited until she had settled back against the leather seat before saying, “So, the after-parties are out, no question there.  But where _shall_ we go?”  The light of passing traffic was enough for her to see the faint smile lines that rounded beneath his eyes.  It was such a delightful distraction that she missed the question altogether.  “Anni,” he said, sounding amused, “where would you like to go.”

She woke from her silent reverie, surprised at his question, “You’re asking _me_?”  She hadn’t expected that.

“Some place quiet, don’t you think?” He seemed to be truly enjoying her mild confusion. 

Probably gets that a lot, Anni mused, and perhaps typical for a man, he was liking the effect he had on her.  We’ll see about that, she decided, digging down to tap the poise she knew was banked inside her.  “Some place for a drink?  Or was there something else you had in mind?” she asked him, raising her chin slightly, awaiting his answer.      

He gave a low, appreciative whistle.  “Drinks to start with, but remember you’re to be my chaperone.” 

“And _I’m_ to guarantee your best behavior?”  Anni was enjoying the little play between them, and felt herself relaxing, “But I thought I was to be in _your_ hands, Mr. Cumberbatch.  I was counting on you to surprise me.”  She added a small sigh at the end, just to make it interesting.

He was quick to volley back, “Its Benedict, please, Anni.”  He let that thought settle a moment, before continuing, “And I will.”

This time Anni sighed without meaning to, feeling a little wisp of excitement kindle in her chest.  She turned to look out of the window, hoping not to betray herself so early in their adventure.

* * *

 

As they hadn’t been able to decide on a destination, Benedict deferred to their driver, who took them swiftly to a quiet little pub in Kensington.  The place was well appointed, but the Tuesday night traffic was sparse, which suited their purposes perfectly.  They took a booth in the far corner of the room, and were able to place their drink order without any fuss.  If their waiter recognized Benedict, he made no sign that it had any particular meaning to him.

Benedict had taken off his tie and was rolling it carefully to place in his pocket, before undoing his collar buttons.  Anni was nibbling quietly on the mix of nuts and pretzels the server had left for them.  It left an awkward silence hanging heavy, for neither was quite sure where to go from here.  Fortunately, their drinks arrived quickly, giving an opening for conversation to begin.

“So what exactly is it you are drinking?” he asked, pouring beer from his bottle into the frosty mug before him.  It left an inch of foam on top, so he waited for it to settle a bit.

“It’s a Black Diamond,” Anni replied, running her finger along the rim of her glass, bringing it to her lips to taste the black salt, “Tequila-based, a little more sophisticated than a margarita.”  She took a sip, nodding in approval, “It’s very good—would you like to try a bit?”

“Why not,” he responded, his smile as candid as his tone of voice, “sounds interesting.”   

She started to slide the drink across the table to him, thought better of it, and slid closer to him herself, passing him her glass.  “Be sure to get a taste of the salt with it,” she told him, “or you won’t get the full effect.” 

He sat a little straighter, nodded at Anni, then brought the cocktail glass to his lips.  “Mmmm, that’s good, _very_ good,” stating between sips, “just the right combination of tart and sweet.”  His face took on a devilish cast, “Rather like you.”  He set the glass between them on the table.

Anni was trying very hard not to smile at his barefaced attempt to flatter her, “Really?” she asked him, “You really actually said that?”  His obviousness was very silly of course, but deep-down she couldn’t help but feel that spark of delight flare again.  Keep your wits about you, girl, the sensible voice in her head demanded; you’ve fended off much better lines than this.

Yet his charisma was undeniable.  She watched, mesmerized, as he looked down sheepishly, laughing lightly at his own expense, running his right hand through his hair.  Damn, but that’s endearing, she thought, but is he Acting, or is this the genuine article?   She took a healthy swallow of her drink, hoping it was bracing enough to help her navigate the shoals that the invitation of his lively eyes presented.

Benedict took a mouthful of his beer and gave a little dip of his head as he considered what might come next.  “So earlier, in the loo,” he started, giving Anni his full attention, “you seemed to say that the catering job wasn’t your real calling.” 

Anni barely nodded, casting her eyes down a moment, revealing more than she likely intended, before looking back his way, “It’s a temporary-permanent sort of thing.  Not my ideal choice, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?  I’ve had to take some time away from University, but I haven’t turned my back on that yet.”  Her voice was light, but again he heard a note of sadness, which made him more curious still.

Before he could ask, Anni had lifted her glass, trying to lighten the moment with a genial toast, “Here’s to all the roads we travel and the very interesting detours that we find along the way.”  Benedict raised his, their glasses ringing lyrically as he tapped it against hers.  It seemed to close the subject once again, if only for a little while.

She went on to ask him about his current projects, clearly fascinated by the details he related, an easy audience that drew more information as he went along, with thoughtful questions interjected when he paused in his telling.  Anni demonstrated a familiarity with the lingo of the business and the art, and--pleasantly surprised--Benedict realized she had drawn from him more information and opinion that he normally would share with a virtual stranger.  Perhaps she’s a wannabe journalist, he speculated; she’s bright enough, surely, with the right spark of inquisitiveness.  It occurred to him, momentarily, that she might be playing him false, that perhaps she might be gently cross-examining him for an article or even—god forbid—a hit piece of sorts.  Yet he rejected the notion almost as soon as it arose, for his intuitive nature told him that her questions were honest ones.  A good part of his success as an Actor came from his ability read and understand human nature, so that he could apply it to his work—and in this young woman he sensed sincerity that could not be fabricated.

He’d lost focus as he’d been pondering Anni’s seeming extensive knowledge of the craft, missing the first part of her next question.  He turned his mind back her way to catch the tail end of her query, “…is that where _you_ find the best way to the emotional truth in a scene?  I’ve always found it’s the circumstances, the wants and needs of the moment and the character’s arc, that get me there.”  In the semi-dark of the corner booth, he could see her eyes were wide, waiting keenly upon his response. 

Her question caught him mid-swallow, and he sputtered a bit into his beer, setting down the mug.  There it is, Benedict thought reproachfully; had he been so foolishly taken in by her sycophantic inquiries that he’d missed what would probably be very obvious if he hadn’t _wanted_ to find her so charming?   His top lip was wet with foam, which he quickly wiped away, exclaiming “Christ, you’re an actress!”  He looked down, shaking his head, his voice low and steely, “Well, I fucking walked right into _that_ one.”  He finished his beer in a long swallow, thumping the empty mug back onto the table.    

Shocked by his sudden outburst, Anni wasn’t sure if it arose from disappointment or outright disgust.  Wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt, she tried not to sound hurt, “You say that like it’s a four-letter word.”  Benedict remained silent, cupping his empty mug with both hands.  Things had turned so sour, so quickly, and a part of her just wanted to get up and leave without another word.  But the more stubborn part of her nature required her defense, and if she was to leave his company—oh so regretfully—she needed to set the record straight.

“Look,” she told him, taking the liberty of laying her hand lightly on his upper arm, “if you think I only came out with you for some ulterior motive..…that I only helped you out when you were looking for a smoke because I saw it as some kind of stupid career move, well then..…” Anni paused, hoping for the best, but expecting her words were not getting through, “..…well then, I’ll just go now.  I’ll look on this fondly as a pleasant conversation with a bright, warm, and witty gentleman.  And certainly not as a failed attempt to buy a bit of favor or a leg-up in the field”  She nodded to herself, satisfied she’d had her say, picked up her glass to finish her cocktail, then gathered her things to leave.  She didn’t want him to see that her eyes had begun to mist up, for it would belie the strong statement she was trying to leave him with.

Benedict heaved a telling sigh. “Wait,” he said, still looking down, his manner and voice now recalcitrant, “please stay.  I suppose I wasn’t being very fair,” he finished, waiting upon her response.

Anni’s back was to him, else he would’ve seen the small, relieved smile that dimpled her cheeks.  She slid back into the booth, a mite closer to him this time, setting her bag and jacket beside her.  “Do you think we can order another round?” she asked quietly.  Benedict grinned at her, the dark moment fully passed, “My thoughts exactly.”  He waved to their waiter, this time asking for two Black Diamonds, clearly intending it as a peace offering of sorts.  And for a third time, Anni felt that excited rush flutter in her chest.  He was far too charming for her own good, she had come to recognize, but like a moth to flame, she was entranced.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

_"In Vino Veritas"_

That was a truism, and apparently the underlying theme of the evening.  Anni knew she had to pace herself, aware of the irony it would be should she drink beyond tipsy in the company of the man she’d warned hours before to slow down a bit with his own indulgence.  He hadn’t heeded her sage advice earlier, and now she was just as guilty of ignoring the same counsel.  She told herself she wasn’t entirely to blame; she’d had nothing substantial to eat since wolfing down a sandwich before her shift began, and only a few handfuls of the pub mix that sat upon the table—and that was salty enough to encourage further drinking, as any barkeep would be happy to point out.

Benedict was faring better though, better even than during his foray on the podium.  Pleasantly buzzed, _and_ enjoying the irony playing out before him.  Their conversation had taken several directions, and as the tequila hit her system, Anni had become…..merry.  There really was no other word for it.  Merry and…..well, merry enough to gradually move closer, until now as her thigh was pressed cozily against his beneath the table.  He honestly hadn’t intended for that to happen, but he was willingly to make…..allowances, in the face of her growing boldness.  If he let her continue on this path, she might very well end up in his lap.  His feelings were mixed on that prospect, knowing what was gentlemanly and proper, contesting with the persistent urge to discover if her dark brown hair was as soft as it looked, or just what the smooth skin of her neck—alive with the steady beat of her pulse—would taste like.  

“Seriously, though,” her voice was only a little slurred, “I want to be clear here, all my cards _on_ the table.”  Anni tapped the back of his hand for emphasis, “I’m not ashamed to say it, and you can call it a cliché…”  She adopted a regal expression, her posture matching her mood, “Yes, I’m an actress who waits tables for a living, ten a penny to be sure, but the heart wants what it wants, right?”  She moved her face closer, near enough for him to wonder if she would try to kiss him, “Life can fool with my plans, and maybe they’re on..…” Anni closed her eyes, deliberating upon the perfect word, “….. _hiatus_ for a bit, but that don’t…..” she frowned at her mistake, “….. _doesn’t.._ …mean I’ve given up.”  She finished with a crooked smile that all but dared him to tell her otherwise.

Unable to resist his curiosity, Benedict brushed his fingers against her hair, where the ends curled against her shoulder.  It pleased him to find it was as soft as he’d imagined, “I don’t doubt at all you’ll find your way, Anni.  There’s power in that kind of passion.” 

She drew a quick, surprised breath and blushed; he could not tell if it was his words or his touch that brought such colour to her cheeks, but it was pretty all the same.  She appeared to lose her train of thought; lost a little bit, he hoped, in considering the kind regard in his eyes.  Her brow furrowed in concentration as she searched for, then found, the rest she’d planned to say.

“So you see,” her voice had grown serious, losing its flirtatious edge, “there is no way that I came here tonight out of some misguided hope that it might jumpstart my career.”

Benedict was soft, reasonable in reply, “I understand that now.  I do, and.…”

Anni held up her hand, “No, please let me finish.”  Breathing deeply, she continued, seeming very sober now, “I know that you probably get lots and lots of people who want something from you.  I get it.  You likely feel put upon, in one way or another, just about every day.…” 

He acknowledged the truth of her quiet statement with a nod, appreciating her discernment of that constant fact of his life. 

“Obviously, I don’t _know_ the private you, but the impression I have is that you generally handle that sort of thing with humor and grace.”  Her gentle, thoughtful manner held him rapt, “I’m not saying this to be obsequious.  I’m just being honest.  And I _need_ you to know I’m _not_ one of those people.”

Benedict nodded again, surprisingly relieved to hear her say as much out loud. Anni continued, confident now she was choosing her words wisely, “But I also need you to know this—one of the biggest reasons I’m here right now is that I find your work brilliant and…..breathtaking, and…..filled with such astounding, beautiful truth.  Never a false note.”  She smiled so warmly, it was no surprise that when she put a hand on his, he felt that warmth in her touch. 

“I think you’re the absolute standard for all of us--trivial as our attempts may be at times.”  Anni lowered her frank gaze as she finished, reticent for him to see how deep her feelings ran on the topic, “Your talent is a true revelation,” she withdrew her hand from where it rested on his, placing it over her heart, “and an inspiration for whatever meager artistic aspirations live inside me.” 

He was a man accustomed to hearing superlatives bandied about in connection with his work, and so had learned a thing or two about taking them for what they were worth.  He valued best those that came from people with nothing to gain, and from those who understood the artistic process.  Those were the ones that always left him feeling humble, and deeply grateful for the chances he’d been given to live the stuff of his dreams.  Anni had tapped that feeling with her quiet compliments more than that banquet hall full of movers and shakers could ever have done.  Benedict was very, very glad he’d followed that impulse—hours ago now—to see what was beneath the cheeky, carefree image she presented.  Without a second thought, he leaned in close to kiss her cheek, lingering a moment before whispering “Thank you, Anni.”

Her eyes were crinkled in delight, and she whispered back, “The pleasure’s been all mine.”

* * *

 

Last call had come around without them even realizing the true hour.  Having reached such an amiable understanding, neither wished to part ways just yet—but each was very conscious of the possibilities that moving to a more private location would mean.  And so they dawdled over the dregs of their last drinks, dawdled on their way to the door, each hoping the other might relent and make the suggestion.  It was Benedict who finally broke.

“Coffee?” was all he said, thinking it vague enough not to be misconstrued as an advance.

Anni answered at once—without proper thought—realizing her mistake even as the words left her mouth, “Oh, I don’t drink coffee.”  She bit her lip, silently berating herself for spoiling her chance at a little more time in his company.

“Oh.”  One word again, this time full of the disappointment he was feeling.  They were steps from the door now, and he wanted to see the matter settled before they hit the pavement.  “Then a glass of wine,” he suggested, hurrying on to complete the question, trying to sound light of mind, “My place is fairly close, and _you_ can pick the bottle.”

She laughed softly this time, then looked up at his face, earnest in his request, dreamily handsome as she had found him from the moment she had seen him sitting at her table at the dinner.  Grateful for a second chance, she nodded her assent, and when he offered her his arm, she took it gladly.

The driver, waiting patiently along the curb, saw them coming and started the engine.  Benedict was reaching to open the door for her, when Anni stopped him, tightening her hold upon his arm.  He turned to face her, seeing she looked somewhat agitated.  “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, concerned.

She pursed her lips, as though deciding she was even going to speak.  What she said surprised him at first, but later he would be glad she had wanted to issue her caution.  “You should know, Sir,”—her use of the formality broke the tension he was feeling as he waited for her answer—“that I am not now—nor have I _ever_ been— _that_ kind of a girl.  Just to be clear,” Anni let out a deep breath, “we _are_ really talking about wine and conversation.”

He smiled broadly, touched at her old-fashioned manner; it made him like her all the more.  Her honesty deserved his equal measure, “Anni, I won’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.”  Her eyes widened again, and he was sure he saw a hint of delight in them, “but I would never expect you were ‘that sort of girl’.”  He lowered his voice for discretions sake, which made her draw closer to him, “I have to be circumspect these days, now more than ever.  I’m seen with a woman for more than a few minutes at a time, and the rumors start to fly furiously”.  He patted her hand genially, “Your honor is safe with me, I swear.”

Question settled, she looked gratefully relieved, before ducking into the backseat of the sedan.  Benedict followed her into the car and then leaned forward, telling the driver to take them to his place in Hempstead.  Sitting back beside Anni, looking at her lovely profile surreptitiously, he was already starting to wonder if keeping the vow he had just made was going to be a challenge after all.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Anni was slowly coming up through hazy levels of consciousness.  Before she was quite awake, she was aware this was not _her_ lumpy mattress, not _her_ narrow room.  It didn’t distress her at first, for the comfort of this mattress felt too inviting to question; the counterpane was plush and pleasingly scented.  A masculine scent, she was thinking and smiling, before she was even aware of thought.  One she’d love to snuggle close to, one that reminded her of someone special.  Whose could it be?  She hadn’t been in a man’s bed in ages…

 _Shit!’_ her mind cried out as she sat bolt upright, realization hitting her between eyes still foggy from sleep, cramping her solar plexus and radiating out along the connected nerves.  ‘ _What the_ hell _did you do, Anni?  What kind_ _of mess have you stepped into this time?_ ’  

The room was well lit, large windows tastefully covered in curtains translucent enough to take advantage of the natural light, but surely designed to maintain the man’s privacy.  The Man.  The Man in question, her mind prompted, the one you made a fool of yourself with last night.  Anni fell back onto the feather pillow, his scent again wafting about her delightfully, even as her feeling of coming unmoored from reality intensified. 

Where was he, she wondered, her breath coming in little, excited gasps.  And more importantly, what had happened in the intervening time between her last solid memory—sitting on his sofa, finishing her third (fourth??) glass of champagne, his hand running languorously through her hair—and waking now.  In. His. Bed.  Anni shuddered involuntarily, squeezing her eyes shut in denial, as she thought of the implications.  It was almost too much to contemplate, what with the dull headache that now announced itself, rapping steadily inside her skull.  Yet she _had_ to think.

She slowly opened her eyes, grateful now that the light was soft, and slowly looked around the room.  No one in sight; she supposed she should be grateful for that as well.  There was a bathroom door at the far side of the bedroom, slightly ajar, but she couldn’t detect a sound from there.  Good, she thought, at least she wouldn’t be faced with the sudden appearance of a half-clad—or less—Benedict.  She swallowed hard, just thinking the name, as a blush spread across her face and neck at the very thought of what _might_ have happened. 

Fortunately, the initial shock of finding herself in this unlikely place, and even more unlikely situation, gradually started to pass, replaced with a sort of quiet expectation.  Anni was a true optimist at heart, and left to her own devices, usually found a way to see the positive in most situations.  The best thing to do right now, she thought, was to get her bearings. 

Her study of the room revealed a nightstand on her right, a glass tumbler half full of water and a bottle of aspirin beside it.  There’s that at least, she thought; at least I’d had the presence of mind to remember—and ask him for--that old hangover preventative.  She tried to remember just how much champagne she had consumed; she thought it fair to say at least half the bottle. That would certainly explain the headache and the gummy mouth and the nagging thirst.  Anni popped the top of the aspirin bottle and shook two of the pills into her palm, and reconsidering, added a third, knowing more than enough time had likely passed since her last dose.  She finished the water as well, setting the glass back on the nightstand, wishing immediately for more.

Shaking off her drowsiness, Anni soon realized she was wearing a roomy cotton tee, the material well-worn, washed to softness, and bearing still the warmth of her body from beneath the sheets.  _His_ tee, she remembered, beginning to purr happily at the notion, stretching her arms as she yawned--before the memory of how she came to wear it surfaced, stopping her cold.  Anni saw herself entering his bedroom, spotting the shirt flung over the back of a chair ( _his_ chair, _his_ bedroom, how everything now seemed to be coming back to _‘his’_!).  In that moment, despite her drunken state, she had imagined Benedict pulling it over his head, and then carelessly tossing it onto the chair back before changing into his suit for the evening’s event, and she suddenly had wanted with all her heart to wear it as her own.  She had been immovably set upon it, in fact, and he’d laughed as he acquiesced to her childish, pouting insistence.   

But was that all she was wearing?  She thought—prayed—that it was not.  Anni reached beneath the sheet to be certain; thank god, she thought, confirming that her knickers were where she’d left them—plain old cotton, jockey style knickers, for when she’d dressed for work the day before, she’d had no intention of ending up in flagrante.  Of course knickers in place didn’t necessarily mean she hadn’t compromised herself, but she took it as a hopeful sign nevertheless.

Anni guessed from the quality of the daylight that it was likely late morning or early afternoon.  She wasn’t sure exactly what time she’d fallen asleep—or rather, to be completely honest with herself, probably passed out.  No time to wallow in self-recrimination at the moment though; there would be plenty of time for that later.  What she really needed was to figure out what came next.  She sat up against the headboard, considering her options.  Finding her clothes would probably the best way to start.  She spotted them neatly folded on a narrow, backless sofa at the bottom of the bed; it quickly came to her that _she_ hadn’t folded them, remembering now how she had been giggling as she stripped out of her blouse and trousers, leaving them to land on the carpet.  How—after taking his tee shirt to bed down in—she insisted he turn away while she changed.  Benedict must’ve folded them later, after she’d fallen asleep.  The image filled her with sweet warmth towards him, and she fetched a longing sigh, finally getting out of the bed to retrieve them. 

To her amazement, she found a folded sheet of paper sitting on top of her clothes; elegant, rich-looking stationary that most certainly must have come from the writing desk in the corner of the bedroom.  What surprise might _this_ hold, she wondered, growing a little nervous.   Anni reached for it, a small tremor betraying her uneasy suspense.  She unfolded it to find written, in bold, assertive script:

_“Good morning, Anni—_

_Hope you wake feeling better than you’d expected.  I had an appointment I couldn’t miss, or I’d be there to greet you.  Please feel free to make yourself comfortable.  I should be back in a few hours, and I hope you’ll be able to stick around until my return._

_There are plenty of towels in the loo, you’re welcome to wash up if you wish.  I won’t say the kitchen is fully stocked, as it’s a single man’s domain, and as I’ve been on the go so much lately, you may find its rather slim pickings.  I’m certain you can find something to satisfy your appetite though, at least until I’m home.”_

(Anni gave a little gasp, positive he meant the innuendo that lingered with those words.  And with that her knees simply unhinged, and she gracelessly plopped down upon the settee.  She felt scorching heat rise in her cheeks, not knowing yet _exactly_ what had passed between them, but hoping that her “appetite” had not gotten too far out of hand.)

_But seriously—I really did enjoy our conversation last night, despite the alcohol.  Or perhaps, in part, because of it (you did say and do some very…charming…things).  I look forward to chatting with you further, if you wouldn’t mind the wait._

_Most Sincerely,_

_Benedict”_

Anni’s tongue felt very thick in her mouth, as much now from the quick shot of adrenaline to her bloodstream elicited by his letter, as from the after effects of her night of drinking.  She couldn’t do anything now to correct however she might have trespassed in those yet unknown hours, but she could at least do something about the dehydration.  Letter still in hand, she rose and grabbed the water glass from the nightstand, rushing into the bathroom.  She ran the water briefly, wanting it to be cool, then downed a full glass, pausing twice for gasps of air.  Within moments, her stomach cramped from too much of a good thing.  She shook it off, refilled the glass, and sipped it slowly as she returned to the bedroom.

“Got to think, got to think,” she murmured, pacing in front of the settee.  “Got to calm down, really,” she added, feeling the trip hammer of her heart starting to slow in agreement.    She sat down on the settee, less clumsily this time, to reread the note, finding it wasn’t as much an indictment of bad behavior as she’d originally thought.  That it was actually quite sweet, and completely in keeping with the good manners Benedict had demonstrated throughout their brief acquaintance—at least those moments she could remember.  Anni knew full well that more might come to light later, but for now she needn’t berate herself.

And so she decided to do as he’d suggested, take a shower, maybe grab a small bite from his kitchen, and certainly wait until his return.  No matter how badly she may have carried on, she couldn’t think about leaving without seeing him one more time.  The allure of those exotic, soul-searching eyes, the humor that lived in even the smallest of his smiles, the subtle, delicious scent of his skin (a wee part of her fretted-- _wait, just how close_ did _I get to his skin to recall it so well?_ ) was too powerful to be denied.   

Bracing herself for potential surprises, still clad only in the borrowed tee shirt and her knickers, Anni padded cautiously into the hallway and down the carpeted stairs.  She called out a ‘hullo’, softly at first, then a little more boldly as it became clear that she really had the place to herself.  Looking about, she started to recognize the layout of the flat, and landmarks that Benedict had pointed out as he showed her around.  Living room that way, she thought, remembering now that was where she’d cast off her backpack when they’d arrived in the wee hours.  Without a detour, she grabbed the bag, rushing back to the sanctuary of his more familiar bedroom.

Anni drew her hairbrush from her pack, settling on the bottom of the bed, and began to untangle the mess her hair had become, cursing a time or two at the more stubborn snarls.  The brushing calmed her some, and her mind began to mellow, finally allowing pictures from the night past to replay with less difficulty.  He’d given her a little tour of the place, indeed, and she remembered entering the kitchen, spotlessly clean, with light wood cabinets and gleaming chrome fixtures and appliances.  He’d been especially keen to show her the custom wine cooler adjacent to the pantry, the surface glossed to a reflective sheen.  She’d felt a little thrill standing before it, for in its mirror, she saw herself standing at _his_ side.  At the time, Anni had still been tipsy enough from the tequila to think it was the prettiest picture she’d ever found herself in, and bold enough in her cups to say so.

He’d laughed at that, pleased with her honest flattery.  She noticed his little habits (her training as an actress  _demanded_  it of her) which signaled momentary awkwardness—running his hand through his hair, or more becomingly, along his thigh, or the light touch of his long, lovely fingers on his lips before he responded to something cheeky she had said—and she’d wondered if she made a game of it, how many times she might manage to elicit such response.  That would be naughty, she’d mused, but quite fun.

Benedict was pointing out his favorite merlots and chardonnays, well stocked, clearly preparing her to make her choice.  She was trying hard to focus on the qualities he was extolling, only to realize a little guiltily, that her attention was too thoroughly divided to benefit from the lesson.  Anni was trying her best to digest the actual words, but she became distracted simply watching the divine curve of his lips, and the details of his fine articulation, inevitably reaching the most important question of the night so far:  how warm might his lips be in the kissing?

And the voice issuing from those lips?  Liquid velvet that caressed her ears, spreading its warmth down the base of her throat, cascading across the skin of her chest, flowing downward, ever downward, to regions she daren’t speak aloud.  Was ever a voice so purely, effortlessly sensual, yet unaware of its potent spell?   She knew it wasn’t only the effects of the tequila that had her thinking such, and that the attraction she was feeling towards him had to be mostly her own.  There’s trouble here, she thought, and I don’t think I _want_ to avoid it after all.

Then she spotted the Dom Perignon.

Anni gasped in wonderful surprise, her fascination with the man beside her quieting a moment, as she moved closer to the case and pointed, “That one.”

Her unexpected statement threw Benedict off the rhythm of his monologue, “Hmmmm?” he responded, not certain at first what she meant.

Anni turned to him, excitement in her voice and her eyes, ‘You told me I could pick, and I pick that one.” She crossed her arms in front of her, as though daring him to deny her. 

His response was incredulity, “You’re serious?”

Anni could see he had been knocked slightly off-kilter—and knew she had to press her case.  “Deadly serious.” she replied, needing no cunning to win her way, “This is probably the only time in my life I will _ever_ have the opportunity to have some,  and I’d be foolish _not_ to take advantage of the chance”

“Take advantage of me, you mean.”  The light in his eyes and the tone of his voice were teasing her, but she could already see he had no intent to refuse her request.  Instead, he was chuckling, shaking his head in appreciation of her ploy.

Anni began to laugh as well, but insisted on reminding him, “Well, you did promise after all.”  She widened her eyes with pleading—knowing the bottle, likely worth well more than one month’s tips, was as good as hers.

He now wore a charming half-smile, and Anni swore if he denied her after all, that look alone would be worth the loss.  The hint of admiration in his voice was intoxication in itself, “I did indeed.  To my own folly.”

“But a promise is a promise,” he conceded, fetching two crystal champagne stems from a nearby cabinet.  Anni watched, captivated as he deftly removed the foil and wire ( _“oh those marvelous hands”_ she told herself, _“what a girl wouldn’t do to…”_ ; she cut herself off from completing _that_ thought), and then poured the glasses full with practiced skill.

Handing her a stem, he was quick to propose a toast, “So…shall we toast to a first time for everything?”  Anni was certain he intended his toast to have more than one meaning, and felt flustered and thrilled all at once.  She lowered her eyes, trying to look demure, so he would not see her little rush of excitement, and then brought the glass to her lips.  She closed her eyes, letting the champagne rest in her mouth before swallowing.  It was as amazing as anyone unschooled in such might expect, and she quickly took two swallows more.

Benedict was watching her closely, enjoying the dawn of pleasure on her face, but telling her, “Whoa—slow down a bit, the bottle’s not going anywhere.”  He drank some of his own and then asked, “So?  What do you think?  Is it everything you’d imagined?”

“Wow.”  Beaming vividly, she paused for thought.  “It’s….it’s…damn!  It’s like the nectar of the gods!”  Anni drained her glass, to hold it out to him, “More please?”

Benedict nodded, appreciating her enthusiasm, “In good time, Anni.”  With a wag of his head, he indicated for her to follow him into the living room.  “We’ve got the ‘wine’, so how about the conversation _you_ promised? 

Anni bit her lip, the champagne already working its magic, “Lead on, kind Sir, and I’m sure we can find something wonderful to talk about.” As she reached his side in the kitchen doorway, she slid her hand onto his arm, “I think you’ll find I’m as much a woman of my word as you are a man of yours.” 

Musing now in retrospect, setting her brush aside as she prepared to take a shower, Anni had the distinct feeling that whatever may have happened next, that both parties had already been willingly dancing around the edges of a deep—but likely oh-so-pleasant—plunge.

 

_(to be continued, oh yes!)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If you've made it this far, Kind Reader, I thank you very much! Bear with me just a little; there is more to come, chapters more. I'd wanted to add more to this one in fact, but the urge to publish before I'm away from the internet a couple days was just too strong to ignore. Meanwhile, feel free to imagine for yourself, if you will: Did they or didn't they? And if so, was it as lovely as anyone of us might imagine? Ahhh well, only the march of time will give my answer.)


	6. Chapter 6

Benedict was acutely aware that he’d need another healthy dose of caffeine if this meeting was to go on much longer.  He was working on short sleep, and was a tad hungover as well; but honestly, the minor inconvenience of fatigue was well worth the cause, even if it left his focus today at less than full capacity. 

As he’d expected, Karon had been quick to greet him, waiting for him in the reception area before the meeting began.  He could see the look of calm disapproval on her face, but judging by her reactions to past transgressions, he figured her admonishment would be a gentle one.  She sighed in resignation, telling him, “Got off light on that business last night, Ben.  Most of the tweets have been positive—they seem to find you as adorable as ever, despite your miscues.”  He nodded in response, grateful for the easy indulgence his fandom offered him, as Karon continued, “And they’ve giffed the hell out of you on Tumblr, so no harm done there as well.”  She clucked her tongue as she added, “You’re one of the luckiest SOB’s I’ve ever had the pleasure to represent.” 

The Weinstein Company publicity rep also left off any mention of his poor behavior on the GQ podium, so Benedict got lucky there as well.  It was a wonderful gift when things fell into place despite his antics—few and far between as they were—and he was relieved when the discussion had turned immediately to more important matters. 

His lids still heavy, he motioned to Karon’s PA, who moved quickly to his side, bending close to hear his request.  “A red-eye, please,” Benedict told her, “splash of cream, two demerara sugar.”  He smiled genuinely and added, “Thanks.”  She nodded, hurrying out of the conference room to procure the coffee.  He covered a wide yawn with his right hand, flexing his neck until it cracked, shook his head slightly to reduce the cobwebs lodged there, and  _tried_ to turn his undivided attention back to the matter at hand—the very tight schedule he’d be running over the several days he’d be in Canada for the Toronto International Film Festival.

But try as he might, his thoughts continued to wander.  Yet he knew he couldn’t completely blame his present distraction on lack of sleep and too much to drink.  Even clear across the city, Anni continued to delightfully confound him.  He’d left her sleeping off her own night before, snuggly tucked beneath _his_ covers.  He truly hadn’t  _aimed_  for her to end up in his bed—there was the guestroom, after all—but somehow she’d beguiled her way into his bedroom, and it had been beyond him by that point to refuse.  A slow, warm and secret smile grew on his face, for he knew well enough that he couldn’t regret  _that_  in the least.  Anni fascinated him fully, a wholly unexpected riddle that he couldn’t manage to put out of mind.  Benedict definitely liked what she’d revealed of herself thus far—be it intentionally, or by way of the alcohol—and like an intriguing book, she was too good to put down just yet.

Even inebriated, Anni had an intellect that challenged him to bring his best to their conversations, and she peppered her end with clever, wry, and occasionally self-deprecatory humor.  Her word play had surprised him, reminding him of the old adage about not judging a book by its cover.  She was so much more than what she appeared.

The Weinstein rep was asking him to refer to the schedule in the leather case before him.  “Um, right,” Benedict mumbled, opening the cover, so as to at least give the appearance of following along with the discussion.  He knew he probably had them fooled without even trying, which was a very good thing, for he was enjoying thinking about the young woman he’d left sleeping in his bed-- _and_ the titillating events of the night before--too much to want to pay any closer attention.

The very lovely Ms. Grayson remained foremost in his mind.   His face grew warm just remembering the way her voice had gotten huskier as their evening continued, certain that she knew, to some extent at least, the effect it would have on a man whose defenses were lowered by a bit of drink. She was a bundle of tasty contradictions, for she had an honest, old-fashioned sort of feminine modesty that contended sharply with a refreshing, pert playfulness that was not above the game of double entendre.  In fact, she seemed to revel in it when the champagne loosened her tongue and her…propriety.  The combination made a man speculate, quite frankly, about what she would be like between the sheets.  Perhaps a cross between a demure challenge and an immodest sex goddess?  The fervent kisses they had shared—and the ardent touching that had followed—had more than whet his appetite for the answer to  _that_  question.

It took a tap on his shoulder to bring him fully back to attention, the PA having returned with his coffee.  Benedict gave her a nod of quiet thanks, waiting a few moments to be sure the beverage wasn’t too hot for a sip.  He sincerely hoped it would help.  When he glanced to his right, he noticed Karon looking at his curiously; perhaps she could tell something was off.  He cleared his throat before looking back at the portfolio before him, redoubling his efforts to concentrate on professional matters, but the persistent question remained:  would Anni still be waiting at his place when he got home?  It made him all the more eager for the meeting to adjourn.

* * *

The hot water was absolutely heavenly.  And unlike the shower in her modest flatshare, Anni was certain it wouldn’t run out in under ten minutes.  She let her head hang back, soaking her hair through, clearing her mind of worry, simply luxuriating in the steady, relaxing rainfall beat of the water and letting it gloriously soak her tired muscles.  _He_ gets to do this every day, she reflected, a little envious; no wonder he looks so laid-back so much of the time, anyone _would_ with this as their option.

And with that thought of him, an unbidden image came to mind--the forbidden thought of what it might be like to feel _his_ wet skin against hers, how the hot water would allow their hands to slide across each other effortlessly.  She knew it was entirely impossible ( _right--like he’ll get back_ _here and just strip down and join me_ ) but as she massaged his shampoo through her hair, she let the sweet fantasy play out.  How she would drape her arms around his neck, how he might grip her by the hips, pulling her towards him until there was no space left between them.  She imagined hot, open-mouthed kisses, neither paying heed to the rivulets of water streaming down their bodies; she fancied how it might be to suck the water off his neck and along his collarbone ( _oh, how such well-defined collarbones_ _were ever a weakness for her!_ ), then lay her head against his chest as cupped her bottom in those firm, talented hands. She felt the pleasantest of aches such thoughts gave birth to, wishing with all her might that he _was_ here, and wanted her enough to push her up against the shower wall and plunge himself inside of her. Anni knew she shouldn’t be thinking such things, of a man who—in the better reason of daylight--would probably offer only kindness and laughter and hospitality, and that she must look to be grateful, not lustful.  Yet still she throbbed.  It was the very sort of throbbing she hadn’t allowed herself to feel since Jeremy had moved to Italy…

That sobered her quickly enough, and thank goodness.  If Benedict did return now, Anni was sure she couldn’t hide her arousal from him, at least until she had some time to cool.  She’d stick to thoughts of Jeremy then, of his departure and the promises each had made, knowing even then the long-distance thing wasn’t going to work.  How long _had_ it taken him to take up with that cellist in Turin?  Just shy of a month, twenty-seven days in fact.   After that, her life had become one hot mess for months, and when word finally reached him of her difficulties, well……it had been much too late for them to find their way again.  

Anni let those memories dwell only as long as it took to calm herself while she finished showering, no longer delighting in the hot water, just wanting to finish and get dressed.  She stepped out into the steamiest of bathrooms, wrapping Benedict’s lush towels around head and body.  She opened the bathroom door to let the steam escape a bit, enough to see her sad reflection in the mirror.  Don’t want him to see me this way either, she knew, so set about to find happier thoughts.

Though there was a hair dryer on the shelf beside the bathroom sink, Anni opted to towel dry her hair, combing it with her fingers so as not to disturb her natural waves.  She’d always felt her hair was one of her best features, so it wouldn’t hurt for her host to catch sight of her that way.  That done, she surveyed the rows of toiletries scattered on the sink and shelf, coming to wonder just which cologne Benedict had been wearing the night before.  They were, of course, the best of such available, the kind only seen in men’s fashion magazines and the most exclusive men’s shoppes in London, and she smiled as she picked up each to see if it held the scent she was seeking.  Sniffing at each bottle, she finally found one she thought was right; closing her eyes, her mind lingered over the scent and the memory of the man that it evoked, until she sprayed a little onto her wrist—a take-away, she told herself, to enjoy once this lovely adventure was through.  She had a second thought as she moved to put the bottle back, a mischief thought she couldn’t deny herself.  She spritzed a bit more on the hollow of her throat, happy for the chance to cherish just a while longer, this unique experience. 

Feeling the rumble of hunger, Anni dressed quickly, choosing to wear the tee he had lent her, undernath her unbuttoned blouse.  She hoped it was impudent enough to make him laugh, for the sound of it, for the thrill of it, for the way his eyes lit up when he did so.  She wanted to see that very much again before departing his flat.  She made the bed—it was only right—then grabbed her back pack and shoes, heading to the kitchen.

Her mind so much more in order now, she found it easy to navigate her way, finding what she needed, pouring herself some iced tea from the fridge, and then checking his cabinets for cereal.  There was a lone, half-full box of something healthy, which she rejected out of hand, finally settling on a sweet-looking peach from a bowl of fruit on the counter.  Her curiosity was growing again, and she wanted to take a look around to see what she might have missed under the effects of the alcohol.  She left the empty glass from her tea on the counter, planning to return for more later.

His bookcases held special appeal, for she’d always felt you could tell a lot about a person from their literary choices.  His was an eclectic mix:  old classics, new thought-provoking works, philosophy, history of theatre, history in general.  Anni wasn’t surprised in the least, and she liked what she found; this was a learned man with keen intellect.  She plucked his copy of _Nicholas Nickleby_ off the shelf, taking it with her as she curled up on a divan; it had been a favorite of hers since childhood, after she’d seen the mini-series (and developed an inevitable crush on the dark-haired actor in the lead role).  Once she’d discovered Dickens, she never lost her love of his storytelling.

But Dickens only held her rapt for so long this day, and her mind turned back to wonder just when Benedict might return.  Refreshed, and with a full belly, she found she didn’t have to try so hard to remember the events of the evening past.  They’d sat on that sofa, right over there, and they had talked shop.  Eventually, he got her to reveal where she’d attended uni, her course of study, and theatrical experience.  He’d been quite kind about her little resume, maybe only because he had been drinking, but still it had left her glowing.  They were both quite comfy on that sofa, and he’d willingly filled her glass when she made clear she’d like more.  And as was natural under such conditions, the flirtations deepened until she was feeling breathless with the undercurrent of mutual attraction.  She’d been telling him about her aspirations as a playwright, and wanting him to understand how very serious she was.  _“Three one-acts,”_ she’d told him, _“all performed as part of the yearly festival of new works.”_ That was when she reached for him, tucking two fingers in the crook of his shirt, to pull him close enough to emphasize the next she wanted to share.  _“I’ve started on a full-length, romantic comedy,”_ pausing to pout a bit, _“although my Muse is on extended holiday and I haven’t worked on it in months.”_   Anni had only then realized she had pulled him to her, but when she moved her hand away, Benedict had gently taken it in his, kissing her palm, and not letting go.  _“Is this alright?”_ he’d asked, his deep voice hushed and intimate.  Anni had been barely able to stutter her assent…

* * *

…before he had reached for the champagne glass in Anni’s other hand, taking it so as to rest it on the low sofa table, allowing him to kiss that hand as well.  He’d liked how dazed she’d looked, and behind her surprise was the clear recognition of where this was leading.  Benedict knew he’d given his word, yet the moment felt too ripe to ignore. Clearly she felt it as well; there was a slight tremble in her parted lips as she waited for his next advance. 

He was pleased when Anni broke the silence.  Her voice was soft, languid, “It’s sugarplum flavoured.  In case you’re wondering.”

Benedict bit his lip, moving infinitesimally closer, “What is?”

“My lipgloss.  Sugarplum. Because you seem to be,” Anni drew a meaningful sigh, tinged with palatable longing, “watching my lips a bit.”  Her breath caught a moment before she went on, “I couldn’t help but notice.”

 _That_ , he’d known at once, was the go—and still he’d waited, drawing out the anticipation.  There’s nothing quite like it, he’d been thinking then; and thinking now in the remembering, the moments leading up to the discovery of a woman’s lips.  He swallowed hard, struggling again to bring his attention back to the here and now.  The meeting was wrapping up, and very glad he was about it.  He didn’t plan to stay a minute longer than he had to.  Uncharacteristically, he eluded the usual banter that normally followed, brushing quickly past his publicist with a minimal goodbye.

Heading down in the elevator, eager to get to the garage and his motorbike, the sensations of those moments came back to him.   How they had hovered there in the blissful expectancy that is the prelude to every great first kiss.  Time slowing, playing out deliciously, as the distance between their lips began to close.  As he leaned in, he wondered—hoped as well—that the chemistry he’d been sensing for the past several hours would turn out to be true.  Her lips were soft and oh-so-yielding--and they tasted exactly has she had advised him they would.  Sugarplum…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (..again, I beg pardon and patience. There was more to the chapter, but Reality has me very off-kilter, and I needed the satisfaction of publishing to soothe my troubles a bit. I don't plan to leave them in that first kiss for too very long, heavenly as I've imagined it to be! So obviously this will be continued...)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in light of Mr. Cumberbatch's recent engagement, I had to think a while before deciding if it was alright to proceed with this story. Part of me felt like writing about such a Romance was no longer appropriate, given Reality. Yet I'd left Benedict & Anni in mid first kiss, and as delightful as first kisses can be, no one wants to stay in one forever. After serious consideration-- and consultation with some wonderful, creative minds of friends on Tumblr, I decided to go forward. Whatever the case, he is a Muse for me, an inspiration because of his amazing talent and good heart, and it is because of my admiration (it's alright to name it an obsession, for I will freely admit to that!) I've started a creative process that makes me happy and fulfilled in ways I never thought I'd find again. I suppose--I HOPE-- that such work done with Love & Creativity, can't be a bad thing all. Thank you, Kind Reader, for continuing to indulge me!

* * *

 

_"I believe in kissing, kissing a lot."_

Benedict Cumberbatch

_"I couldn't agree more."_

(your humble author)

 

Anni had let the book fall to the floor, caught now in remembering the achingly slow way their lips, at last, had come together.  She closed her eyes to picture it more fully, and to sink into the memory of her senses.  One would have thought they’d have been dulled by the champagne she’d been drinking at the time; instead they were alive and paying close attention.  She felt the fullness of his lips, especially his lower one, the one that held such a natural pout that it had been driving her mad inside wondering if he was _ever_ going to make the move.  She tasted the champagne on his tongue as he teased it between the invitation of her softly parted lips, making her shiver delightfully.  The aroma of his cologne—surely mixed with the natural scent of his skin--was subtle enough to please, and not overwhelm in the least.  And the auburn scruff that covered his skin was softer than she’d expected; Anni couldn’t recall the last time she’d kissed a man with facial hair of any sort ( _wait, she suddenly remembered, there was that stage kiss in_ Much Ado about Nothing _, two years ago--but that kiss had been_ entirely _forgettable)_.  The feel of his whiskers where they brushed against her—and later, tentative at first, then with growing confidence, as she caressed his cheek—was quite a pleasurable surprise.  

She’d been thinking “ _finally!_ ” as Benedict kissed her, and wishing that the moment wouldn’t ever end.  She’d been thinking “ _this is too wonderful to be_ _real_ ” and “ _these things never happen to me_ ”, and when he pulled back slightly to gage her reaction, her eyes had remained closed, her lips still open and asking for more.  He had laughed softly, which made her come back to reality, to look at him wide-eyed.  He ran his thumb along her lower lip, marveling, “You’re quite delicious.” Her breath had caught again before she could manage her amazed reply, “As are you.”

Reclined comfortably on his divan, Anni now could remember it all, remember the best of it, and the many subtle details she knew she’d be happy to relive in her mind, long past the night that they’d shared such a luscious interlude.  The thorough kissing by a man who knew how to take his time, drawing her irresistibly along, stoking her eagerness with his lips and tongue, making her want to give him her very breath just to make him never, ever stop.

Glorious kisses that she hadn’t had for far too long; kisses that reminded Anni that she _was still_ young and fair and ripe enough for such a man to want her; kisses that paled the disarray her life had fallen into.  Kisses that demanded to be met with equal potency.

By then he’d laid his palms against her cheeks and his fingers had found their place in her hair, and there was no breaking the connection between them now.  As they breathed each other in, Anni couldn’t help the small sounds of pleasure rising from her throat.  He must’ve liked that, because he smiled against her lips and shifted his hands to her shoulders, so to pull her even closer.  That made her brave enough to twine the fingers of one hand in his hair, the other eventually moving its way downward to press against his chest.  She was completely lost in him, with no concern for where this could lead…

* * *

…his lips swept across the soft warmth of her cheek, seeking the silk of her hair, even as he guided her to lean against the sofa back.  The small part of his brain still functioning in the rational was sending up alarms to stop this before it got out of hand.  But he didn’t want to stop, not even to catch his breath or let his racing heart slow a bit; this was something he needed, and if he was judging Anni’s responses correctly, she felt that need as well.   

Without conscious choice, Benedict’s fingers traced along the line of her throat, as she nuzzled his cheek, her teeth softly grazing his earlobe.  That was a divine surprise, making him think about the other sensitive places her lips might touch.  He could feel her rapid pulse, tender against his fingertips, and he wondered if it was in sync with his.  It certainly felt like it must be.  Then he was trailing his fingers down to the buttons of her blouse, and she raised no objection; instead she whispered against his neck, “Yes, please”.

He began to undo her buttons with the wonderful, tantalizing deliberateness of an opening tease, tempering his eagerness with the desire to savor each moment of her response, until there were only the two buttons at the bottom left.  He drew away a moment to look at her, to see her wanton and clearly vulnerable to where he might lead her.

Underneath her blouse, Anni wore a black satin camisole; he slowly ran his fingers just under the black lace trim, all along the length and back again, to rest them in the center, upon the inviting swell of her breasts.  Anni gasped at first, following with a low moan; he could feel the vibration of her delicious sound against his fingers, setting off an echo that reached down to his core.  He looked back to her face to see her eyes half closed, and that she seemed to be holding her breath. Her expression conveyed all kinds of delectable possibilities—and when she reached to stroke the nape of his neck, the heat of her skin against his told him she wanted to discover them as much as he did.

Anni’s lips closed the distance between them this time, returning to him the sweet favors of his earlier kisses.  She was relishing his mouth, catching his lower lip between her own—such gentle, insistent suction--and then brushing her tongue along his inner lip, giving him the promise of even deeper things to come.  In truth of that, she covered his hand with hers, sliding it down enough to cover her breast, kneading his hand briefly to show him exactly what she wanted next.        

The effect was irresistible, heady, overpowering--and in no timehe was cupping both of her breasts, and then kissing them through the satin as she arched into his hands, her nipples hard against the cloth.  It made him ache to remove the last barriers between them.  Anni’s hands were in his hair, holding on, holding close.  “Oh, gawwwwwd,” her voice smoky with pleasure, “this is...wonderful…” the last few syllables floating out upon the deepest of sighs…

* * *

… _”don’t_ ever _stop,”_ she was thinking, _“anything he wants now, I can’t…I won’t be able to say no”._ The presence of mind to deny him had completely left her; his touch, his mouth, replacing any will she’d had to resist such temptation when she’d told him earlier that she wasn’t that kind of a girl.   She realized there was freedom in abandoning her better judgment and so she let her own hands follow his example.  The muscles of his arms and shoulders were firm as she explored them, and before too long she was sliding her hands beneath his shirt, not even patient enough to wait for him to unbutton it.  “Wait,” he told her between labored breaths, “let me, it will be better this way.”  For a moment she thought he might rip right through the buttons, and the idea excited her even more.  Leaving one hand on the side of her breast, Benedict quickly undid his shirt, his focus on her face unwavering.  Anni swept her hands onto his chest while beginning to kiss the base of his throat, moving to the strong line of his clavicle and then to the hot flesh below it.

The memory was so vivid, Anni found she was panting in mere recollection, and she felt again the honeyed ache their play had awakened.  This is so wrong and entirely inappropriate and good god, if he should return right now, she reprimanded herself, there would be no hiding the flush these thoughts had painted upon her face.  She needed to get herself under control—and reliving the way they had dandled and kissed, until she had lost all track of time, was _not_ the path to restraint…

* * *

…got to stop thinking about this, Benedict was telling himself, still sitting astride his motorbike, key in ignition unturned.  The heat of the memories was quite overwhelming, and how in hell would he be able to steer safely through London traffic if he let himself be distracted so?  If he could focus on the fact that timing was important—that there was no guarantee Anni would be waiting for him at his flat—that ought to get him moving.  Especially as they’d not even taken the time to exchange mobile numbers yet, so if she was gone..…well, that would probably mean a quick end to whatever sweet chemistry might further develop between them.

But thinking her name conjured her face, and that quickly reminded him how she had looked as he’d fondled her, how she’d not denied him a touch, and how she’d felt, pressed tight against him.  Even clothed, he’d relished her softness and the heat she stirred him to, her willingness to go forward most beautifully clear as she moved against his hand when he stroked her inner thighs.  Anni’s rich, deep-throated moans went both to his head and his groin; her bold and unexpected (but certainly wished for) reply to his intimate caresses nearly undid his best of intentions.  Her mouth was against his ear, her breath moist as she whispered, “Yes, whatever you want.  Whatever you need.”  Her delicate hand was firm as she rubbed it against the bulge in his trousers; he was certain she could reckon the beat of his heart by the very throb of his erection.  It had taken a momentous force of will to not give in—that he had, at the last, asserted restraint remained a shock to him, even these many hours removed.           

It had been for the best, for the both of them, he still believed, though he felt an honest share of regret for the pleasures he’d passed up.  In the end, Benedict was the gentleman he’d worked a lifetime to become, coming to his clearer senses by remembering Anni’s honest, forthright declaration that she was not that kind of a girl, taking it quite to heart, when he could have had her there with ease.  He could not, would not take advantage of her, with her inhibitions weakened by a night of drinking. As strongly as he’d burned to have all that she was offering, he’d mastered himself enough to pull away before things had gone further.

“We can’t, Anni.” he’d finally managed, his voice pitched low and striving to sound calm, “I can’t.”  His mixed signals had confused Anni, and in moments the hurt of rejection was clear in her eyes.  Before she could ask, he was answering, “I mean I can..…I really, _really_ can, but..…but I won’t..…” how to say this, he’d wondered; the last thing he wanted was to wound her pride, to discourage her tender feelings, or to dampen the attraction she so clearly had to him.  She was already backing away from him, closing herself off, struggling to fasten her blouse with hands that shook enough that she got the buttons askew.  Worst of all, she wouldn’t look at him, and he’d wanted her to _see_ how torn this decision left him.

“Anni, please,” he’d said, reaching for her hands as they continued to worry upon her buttons, “believe me, this is the right thing.  You’ve tempted me more than I should have allowed.”  She stilled her fidgeting and looked up at him; her lashes were wet, so he knew she was swallowing back tears, and he liked her even more for the dignity she sought to show despite the wound his perceived rebuff had inflicted. “It wouldn’t be right or fair, you see.  For us to go forward…..under these conditions.”  He’d paused then, at a loss, running his hand through his hair, actually damning himself for his unfortunate lack of control. 

"I understand,” she muttered quietly, in a tone that told him just the opposite.  It made him want to kiss the quietly petulant set of her mouth, but he knew that would lead to no further good.  Instead, he set himself to assuage, hoping the truth he spoke now would dull the edge of disappointment, “This has been the sweetest night I’ve had in quite some time.  You’re downright adorable, and you deserve better than some alcohol-fueled tryst.”  Benedict leaned close to her, his voice low, deep, and his most persuasive, “I’d rather wait for you to be…..well, to choose this with a clearer head.”              

The crystal-blue gaze of her eyes held him tight, hoping that his answer was enough to satisfy.  She blinked very slowly a few times, and drew a deep sigh.  Her smile looked almost bittersweet, and she spoke in a near whisper, as though she was noting her thought for a later time, “Gives a girl a chance to dream a little, anyway.”  She looked away, reached for her empty champagne stem, to hold it towards him, “Is there anything left in the bottle?”   Anni’s show of bravado was good, but not so much that he couldn’t see it was an act this time. He refilled her glass from the dregs of the bottle, nevertheless.  She winked at him, and then downed it in a flash…

* * *

…knowing Benedict was absolutely right didn’t dull the disappointment that had settled in her chest.  Of course it had been way too much, way too soon, yet he’d awakened yearnings that Anni wasn’t ready to dismiss so easily.  She had never been one to give in so foolishly to physical desires;  but in her heart she knew it wasn’t the alcohol, or the lateness of the hour, or even the loneliness of her current situation that had allowed her to proceed with such daring abandon.  He was completely charming, utterly brilliant, and it had been ages since she’d actually spoken with a man of such stimulating intellect, it had been like discovering a secret treasure whose value grew with each moment of examination.  That wasn’t even considering how simply beautiful he was up close—classically handsome, like the movie idols of old-time Hollywood.  And up close, there was such a sense of goodness, such a serenity about him, that it was easy to understand the mass appeal he generated, and all that without even trying.  Anni knew she should be entirely grateful to have spent such a time with him—but, oh she was envious for more.

His words were kind and all sincere, and she believed him fully, but she couldn’t help but fret; _now things will turn awkward, and before too long he’ll likely realize how ridiculous I really am_.  Even more than the desire he’d demonstrated for her—well, perhaps not more, but at least as much—she wanted Benedict to think well of her, and so feared that her behavior had destroyed any chance of that. 

But the show must go on; how wonderfully appropriate to the things they held in common, she reckoned.  Anni decided it would be for the best if she could make him believe it really didn’t matter to her, no hurt feelings whatsoever.  She‘d see him laugh again at least, even if it meant some sheepish, silly behavior.  And so she’d bravely played the part, asking for more to drink, than returning to some inconsequential banter, when all the while she really wanted to shout aloud that he’d made her feel more wonderful than she had in many months, and please, oh please, don’t make this feeling stop.  But it wouldn’t do for her to play that fool again.

Reflecting on it in the light of day, hoping with all her heart that he was headed back, and soon, Anni wondered if Benedict had actually believed her act; part of her was hoping he had not, that perhaps he had seen how truly saddened she had been…

* * *

…”I suppose I’d best be on my way,” she’d told him, the champagne all finished now.  Yet her tone and body language—to a man who made his livelihood from observing human nature—told him differently.  Most men might not pick up of the false notes of her carefree demonstration, but he’d played such roles time enough to recognize the signs.  He wouldn’t say a word however; there was an honest sweetness to her efforts—for his sake surely—that he found dear.

“Well now, that’s a bit of a dilemma, isn’t it?”  Anni’s eyes widened in true surprise.  “I’ve had a little too much to drink, so I don’t really trust driving you myself.”  He drummed his fingers softly against his lips (unaware of how such a small thing made Anni long to kiss each finger at length, before moving to his mouth), trying to think of another option, “And I honestly don’t feel right just dumping you in a cab.”  That had elicited a pretty, candid smile from her.  “I think it would be far too impersonal to end our evening on that note, don’t you?”  Her smile had broadened now, and it lightened his heart to see her so.  “I’ve got a guestroom.  How would you feel about kipping there for the night?”

Now her smile had completely animated her face; he could tell she loved the idea.  She nodded enthusiastically, and from there he was soon leading her up the stairs, glad for the tacit agreement they seemed to have reached to not discuss the intemperateness that had passed between them earlier. 

He’d been about to show her the guestroom when she bounded past him in excitement.  “Is this _your_ room?” she giggled, not hesitating a moment before flinging herself dramatically across the counterpane.  She turned onto her side so as to face him; propping her head on her hand, she fixed a come-hither look his way, but this time it was a game, and both knew it.  The mood between them had lightened considerably, and Benedict was happy to see her playful again. 

“Alright, yes, but come on now, you’ll be sleeping down the hall.”  He started to turn away, certain that she was following by the sound of the mattress springs as she hopped off the bed.  He had to turn back, however, at the sound of her “oooooo-ing”.

Anni was standing next to the closet, focused on the easy chair beside it.  “This is your tee shirt; I’ve seen it in photos online!  Comicon.”  Benedict nodded, wondering where she was leading.  “Might I borrow it to sleep in?” 

He rolled his eyes, but could already tell she was very determined to have her way.  It was such a little thing, he told himself, what harm could there be?  She pulled a bit of a pout while he deliberated, and with that he found he couldn’t say no.  She’d made him turn around while she’d changed though, as if what he had already seen of her hadn’t more than crossed that line. 

“Alright, I’m decent now,” she’d said softly, and when he turned back he beheld in her a charming sight.  She’d slid her trousers to the floor, and the sight of her bare skin hit him unexpectedly, reminding him of how she’d felt beneath his hands.  He had to look away to avoid revealing that reaction.

“Um…there’s one more thing,” she told him, and he looked back, vowing to stay focused on her eyes, and not the fact that _his_ tee shirt lay against the flesh he’d so recently caressed, and that if he wanted to, such flesh could probably very shortly lay against his own.  “I wonder if I couldn’t get some aspirin?  I’m sure to have a whopper of a hangover in the morning, and some aspirin before I pop off for the night might lessen it some.”

“Certainly.”  He’d ducked into the loo to get her the aspirin bottle and a glass of water.  Returning to the bedroom, he found Anni had climbed beneath his covers despite his plan to have her take the spare bedroom.  She was resting on his pillows, propped against the headboard, her dark hair looking lovely, spread across the pillow sham.  Damn, she’s done this on purpose, he surmised ruefully; she probably wants to remind me just what I’ve chosen to miss out on, and I probably deserve it too. 

Benedict sat on the edge of the bed while Anni swallowed her medicine, and then took the tumbler and bottle from her.  As he leaned to place them on the nightstand, their faces were kissably close again, and he could smell the light, youthful fragrance of her perfume.  It was a tease he’d been hoping to avoid, and he pulled back quickly so as not to encourage either one of them to trespass the new boundaries they seemed to have set.

Unpredictably, Anni raised her brow and boldly asked him, “Is that the best you usually do to tuck a girl in?”

Benedict managed an exasperated sigh, but his heart wasn’t really in it.  He couldn’t deny the continued attraction as he tucked the covers around her a bit.  “If you need anything, Anni, I’ll be right down the hall…” he trailed off, realizing he was delaying of his own volition now.      

She affected a histrionic sigh, casting her eyes to where his hands still rested on the comforter, then looked directly in his eyes.  She delivered her line with the perfect balance of mischief and sincerity, “Wilt thou leave me _so_ unsatisfied?”

He laughed with equal surprise and amusement. “Ooooo, you’re good, Anni.” He shook his head in admiration, “Oh so good.”

Unchastised, she summoned the most charmingly impudent expression of the night, from what he realized was a well-stocked arsenal.  He chuckled with genuine warmth, “That should have been _my_ line, you know.”

Anni only shrugged, her grin happily sheepish.

Benedict shook his head again, appreciative and more regretful than ever—how could he walk away without meeting her little challenge?   Ignoring the spark inside to give her the true satisfaction they were both missing out on, he leaned forward, took her face in his hands, and kissed her on the forehead.  He lingered a moment, committing her lovely softness to memory.  “Goodnight, Anni,” he told her definitively, and turned off the bedside lamp.

She waited until he reached the doorway, a dark silhouette backlit by the light of the hall outside.  “Benedict?” His name sounded nice coming out of the darkness, pronounced with a familiarity he’d never expected.  He turned to face her, “Thank you for being the gentleman.  Most men wouldn’t have hesitated to take advantage of a girl in my condition.

There was a long pause as he considered his response, “I suppose I’m not most men,” although a part of him regretted it this night.

“No,” her voice had softened, but there was also wonder in it, “You aren’t.  You are,” she yawned before finishing, “ _spectacularly_ different.”  Benedict heard her shift in the darkness, guessing she had snuggled down against the pillow, perhaps even rolling onto her side.  He wished he could see which it was.  Anni sighed softly, “Sweet dreams.”

Poised in perfect profile, Benedict nodded his goodnight, leaving her at last, closing the door behind him as he went.  

 

_(to be continued)_

 


	8. Chapter 8

_“It was like shooting a sitting duck_

_A little small talk, a smile, and baby_ _I was stuck._

_I still don’t know what you’ve done to me,_

_A grown-up woman should never fall so easily.”_

(ABBA- _Lay All Your Love on Me_ )

 

He’d made it safely home after all, although he honestly couldn’t recall the details of the trip.  Benedict supposed he’d managed it on auto-pilot most of the way.  It wasn’t like him to be such a distracted driver, but then his behavior over the last twenty-four hours wasn’t typical of him either.  He knew exactly what—well, _whom_ —had caused these uncharacteristic blips, and as he set his key in the front door lock, he felt the flutter of butterflies in his stomach in anticipation of seeing her again. If she hadn’t bolted, anyway.

Benedict had run through a half dozen opening lines on his drive home, discarding each as contrived or banal, and remained at a loss for just what he should say to her when they finally met again.  Any number of characters he had played would have the situation well in hand, but “performing” as himself—at least in this case--left him feeling awkward and a little tongue tied.  He supposed he’d end up winging it, hoping that just seeing Anni might inspire in him a bit of the grace he needed to keep her thinking he was as charming in the light of day as she had seemed to find him the night before.

He tossed his keys onto the small mahogany secretary in the foyer, deciding to check the living room first.  Stepping beneath the lintel and glancing about, Benedict called her name, trying to sound easy and confident.  There was no answer, nor was she anywhere in sight.  Anni’s backpack was gone, which he took as another indication of her absence.   Disappointment hit him squarely, as he mentally kicked himself for not getting her number.  Frustrated, he crossed to the sofa—the spot where they had been so familiarly and lusciously entangled—wondering if he might be able to get her number through the management of the opera house.  He ran a hand through his hair, considering his options for how to go about it. 

Benedict knew he’d need to be cautious; the best route would be to go through his publicist. But how to explain his unusual request?  He took a seat on the sofa to think it through. Alright…he could tell them her service had been especially exceptional (true that, he mused, chuckling quietly, recalling their trip to the employee restroom so he could have a smoke) and he was hoping to pass along some small token of appreciation.  That could work without raising suspicion—for the last thing he’d want was to cause Anni any trouble for behavior outside of professional expectations.  They hadn’t left the building together, so no worry for her reputation there either.  He’d ring Karon at once.

He had dipped a hand in his pants pocket for his mobile, when he caught sight of a book left on the divan, and the throw resting there slightly askew.  So she _had_ been in here, he concluded, getting up to check the book title; in fact, she’d been comfortable enough to explore his book shelves.  He grinned, letting out a small sound of approval as he imagined the pretty picture she had surely made, studying his collection before plucking her choice in hand, and then relaxing on the divan to read. Noting her selection, Benedict felt his affection for her deepen, while this latest pleasant little reveal of her nature renewed his wish to track her down.  He grabbed the book, meaning to shelve it before making his call.

Still amused by Anni’s pick, Benedict set the book back in its place, and then headed to the kitchen to get a bottle of water from the fridge.  He scrolled through the contacts on his mobile,focused for the moment on what he planned to say to his publicist.  A quiet female gasp woke him from his reverie before he nearly bowled her over--again. Anni inhaled sharply, surprise defined perfectly, her guileless smile growing until it lit all her face.  Benedict was momentarily struck dumb, relief that she had remained mixing with a rush of other feelings—not the least of which was the temptation to sample her lips in daylight as completely as he had the night before.

“Well hullo,” he finally managed, hoping she couldn’t read his thoughts by the look on his face.  “Did you find everything you needed?”

“Everything and then some.”  Anni’s delight at his return was spontaneous and genuine, and he echoed her glad, surprised expression with one of his own.  The suddenness of their meeting didn’t allow a chance for either to hide the satisfaction that each felt renewing their acquaintance.

Benedict was working to recover his wits before he appeared foolish, “Sleep well?” he asked, his voice unconsciously dropping deeper.

Anni beamed a brilliant smile, “The very sleep of the just.”  He gave a quirk of a smile at her use of the unusual idiom; she answered with a lift of one brow.  There followed a momentary lapse, as each searched for the next to say.  “Um,” she finally said, laughing lightly, “I hope you don’t mind, I raided your book shelves.”

Benedict grinned again, “Yes, I saw that.”  He bent his head close, aiming for a confidential tone, “Looking for some light reading, were you?”

Anni tilted hers, pursing her lips prettily, “It’s always been one of my favorites.”  She let her eyes linger on his as she told him wistfully, “I’m a sucker for a well-written romance.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”  They were dancing on the edge of flirtation again, and suddenly he felt right at home.  He liked that she was still wearing the t-shirt he’d lent her, the color flattering against her fair skin and damp locks. Her eyes looked clearer, bluer, in the bright afternoon light streaming through his windows than by the artificial light he’d seen them in before, but their warmth and good humor captivated him just as easily.  It wouldn’t take much, he thought, for a man to let himself get a little lost in the subtle play of the light upon them, or in the faint smile lines at their corners, proof of her cheerful temperament.

Those eyes turned quizzical in his ensuing silence, and one side of her mouth lifted in a sly half smile, breaking his quiet contemplation with a coy response, “Whatever could have given you that idea?”  Anni rolled her eyes dramatically, as though she already knew his answer.  Benedict surprised her instead.

“I think, Annika Grayson,” her full name felt good upon his tongue, “that despite your ready cheekiness, you are something of a true Romantic.”  Her eyes widened as he told her this, “I recognize the symptoms—as they are rather like my own.”

Anni blinked several times before looking away, struck silent by the truth of his observation, secretly glad that he had seen right through her.  When, at last, she mustered the poise for a sassy rejoinder, she saw his candid, bemused gaze had not faltered a bit, causing her to blush in the slightest.  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” was her sincere reply.

“As well you should.”  Benedict stopped himself from telling her how lovely the rising color in her cheeks became her; as true as it was, he thought it might make her too self-conscious to allow the witty play between them to continue.  He was enjoying their flirtatious banter--enough for him to decide that whatever vague plans he had for the remainder of the day could be put on hold.

Best strike while the iron is hot, he resolved.  “You know,” he told her, checking his watch quickly, “I skipped breakfast this morning and I’m starving.  How about we grab some lunch?”

Clearly not expecting such an invitation, Anni needed a moment before responding, “Oh, that’s way too kind of you, but I’m sure I’ve taken up too much of your time already.”  She might be trying to hide it, he realized, but there was regret in her tone that welcomed a second asking.

“Not at all, Anni—you’ve made the hours entirely delightful.”  Benedict leaned closer to her, emphasizing his point, “And I won’t take no for answer.”

She hesitated still, looking away from him bashfully as her need for decorum struggled against her desire to say yes.  Benedict dropped into the rich, deep voice he already knew she fancied best, “You wouldn’t condemn me to spend this beautiful afternoon alone, would you?”

Anni raised her eyes to his again, smirking with the understanding that he was playing her, but quite willing to go along.  Or had she played him, he would come to wonder later.  Either way, one thing was certain:  they were both of them getting exactly what they wished for.

“Alright, but I’ve a witching hour this time.  I’ve got a shift tonight and I really can’t play hooky.”  He wondered if she was itching for him to talk her out of that, but decided to wait and see how the afternoon progressed.  She headed towards the stairs without prompting, “Just let me get my things, and we can make a dash for it.”

Benedict watched in appreciation, the gentle sway of her hips as she ascended, a little breathless wondering if she was putting extra effort in that show for his sake, concluding that this was a question that might take more than just an afternoon jaunt to fully satisfy.

* * *

 

He’d thought they’d take the Jag for the trip to the restaurant, but once she saw his motorbike parked on the far side of the garage, she quickly changed his plan.  “Could we _please_ ,” Anni pleaded charmingly, “I’ve never been, and I’ve _always_ wanted to.”  There was no calculation when she placed a hand on his arm to reinforce her request, but that, and the honest excitement in her eyes at the prospect of a new adventure, made it impossible for him to say no.

“I suppose so,” he answered, meaning to sound put upon, yet failing in the face of her eager anticipation, “but you’ll need something warmer for the trip.  Hold on.”  Benedict ducked back into his flat to retrieve his grey lambswool cardigan, instructing Anni to put it on, before grabbing a spare helmet from a shelf near the motorbike.  He turned to beckon her over, and couldn’t suppress a quiet laugh, seeing the way his sweater swaddled her--well too big, but quite adorably.  Anni looked mildly chagrinned at his reaction, but that soon melted away when he reached to wrap the sweater more tightly around her.  “Can’t have you catching a chill now, can we?”  She heaved a small sigh, batting her eyes in easy flirtation, as she allowed him to settle the helmet on her head, securing the chin strap with well-practiced hands.  Once done, he fastened her backpack beneath leather straps on the back of the bike, to finally wheel it through the open garage door.  Anni followed in his wake, ready for whatever instructions he might give her, and thrilled beyond measure to be embarking on another novel experience in the company of a man who—whether he realized it or not—had completely captivated her.

* * *

 

Anni was holding on tight, exactly as Benedict had instructed.  Her arms encircling his waist beneath his leather jacket, leaning against him, eyes closed as she felt their speed, trusting him completely.  She couldn’t think of a time in recent years when she had felt so carefree and happy, and she planned to hold on just as tightly to each precious moment, storing the wonders in her memory to revisit long after the bright sun of this late summer afternoon faded to the early dusks of winter eves.  As far as she was concerned, he could drive on for hours, weaving through the streets of London which he seemed to know so well, scooting past slower moving cars and buses with confident impunity. 

She found herself wishing her helmet away, so to lay her check against the warmth and the scent of his leather.  She had noted immediately that the helmet was a smaller size than his own, realizing she couldn’t be the first to wear it.  Did that matter to her?  Not a whit, for _she_ was the one riding pillion now, and no one could take the joy of it from her.  From time to time she breathed deeply in satisfaction—she just couldn’t help it—and she wondered if Benedict could feel her chest expand as she inhaled, pressed against him as she was, and if so, what he might be thinking; and if he could tell how rapidly her heart was beating, as much for delight of holding him close, as for the thrill of the ride itself.  Anni thought it the most perfect September afternoon that she had ever known.

She felt the deceleration as they banked around a left turn, but instead of picking up speed once more, they slowed and pulled along the curb.  Benedict cut the engine, leaving the muscles of her thighs with just the echo of the pleasant vibrations it had created.  She knew her cheeks had coloured at _that_ thought, and hoped it would fade before she had to remove her helmet—for whatever might he think?  

Anni was surprised to feel Benedict’s firm hand on the small of her back, steadying her as she dismounted.  She was sure it wasn’t entirely necessary, and thought it was likely he knew that too—but if he was taking it as an opportunity for a fleeting touch, she hadn’t a single objection.

 _The Old Red Lion_.  Something about the name sounded familiar, but Anni couldn’t recall why.  Surprising her, Benedict led her through the dining area, past the bar where a modestly sized crowd was chattering boisterously over the rugby game playing on the telly, to the rear of the building.  They exited into a small, sunny beer garden, quite secluded from the noise inside.  He set their helmets on the table, and pulled out a chair for her, then took a seat beside her.  Anni was pleased at the very cozy setting.

Their server arrived quickly, dropping off a couple of menus, goggling when she recognized the man at her table.  She immediately lost her train of thought, but Benedict was gracious enough to pick up the thread for her, setting her back on course with his typical, easy charm, ordering the special ale of the day.  Though the pub had an impressive list of beers and wines, Anni decided it would be best to go non-alcoholic, settling for ice water with lots of lemon slices.

Watching their waitress head toward back into the building to collect their drinks, Anni pondered how she herself might react if such a celebrity appeared at one of her tables, out of the blue.  Probably exactly the same, she concluded, starting to peruse the short menu.

“The burgers are fantastic here,” he told Anni, setting his own menu down and leaning closer, “Do you trust me?” he asked her, giving a quick wink.

Anni laughed softly, “Depends on what you have in mind.” She narrowed her eyes, trying to look a bit skeptical, “Although I guess you haven’t steered me wrong yet.”

He nodded, pointing to an item on her menu, “I think you’ll want to try this one.  It’s one of my favorites.”  Surely a meat-lover’s dream, the description was a little daunting, but Anni had resolved that adventure was the watchword for the day, and so decided to follow his recommendation.

Their waitress returned to the table, plainly staring at Benedict as she set their drinks down.  She seemed nervous, shaking a little, so it wasn’t a surprise when she sloshed a good part of his ale on the table, where it puddled before drops began to spill onto his trouser leg.  The young woman gasped, wide-eyed and frozen with embarrassment, before pulling a bar rag from her apron to try and mop up the mess, while muttering her apologies. 

“That’s ok, I’ve got this,” he said calmly, chuckling softly while he dabbed at his trouser leg and then the table, with his cloth napkin, cleaning up the rest of the spill.  “Perhaps you could just bring me another?”  He flashed her a winning smile, doing his best to put her at ease.  She nodded gratefully, then rushed off to refill his order.

Benedict turned to Anni, who had been watching their interplay quietly.  “That was very kind,” she told him, “and once she calms down, I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”  The softness in her eyes spoke as clearly as the tone of her voice, of the high regard she held him in.  Smoothing his hair down with his right hand ( _‘there it is again’_ she thought, _‘that dear little hint that he’s can be just as awkward as the rest of us’_ ), he sought to brush aside the pleasant self-consciousness that Anni’s response had engendered.

“It’s not the first time something like this has happened,” he admitted, still chuffed at seeing the admiration on her face.  “Bit of a mixed blessing, really.”  

“What is?” she asked brightly.

“Fame.”  He lifted his half-full glass in a small toast, “It does keep one on one’s toes.”  He swallowed the contents, and set the glass down.  “On the other hand, it gives one the opportunity to meet all sorts of interesting people.”  He was looking at her wryly—and so intently, that Anni dropped her gaze to focus on the drink before her, cupping both hands around the glass.

The waitress returned, appearing steadier, delivering his fresh drink and then taking their order.  Benedict seemed please when Anni ordered just what he’d suggested.

As their waitress walked away, Anni appeared to be giving something keen consideration, tracing a finger along the curve of her glasses several times, until she finally spoke.  “Can I let you in on a little secret?”  She had leaned closer to him, her voice pitched low and soft with the confidentiality of secret-telling, “I could just as easily have been as awkward and star-struck last night as she’s been this afternoon.”

Benedict t’sked, “Oh, I don’t believe it.  You were cool enough at table last night to be giving me advice on how to carry on,” he chuckled warmly again, “or rather, how not to.”

Anni dipped her head, acknowledging the compliment, “You give me too much credit.  On the inside?" She shook her head vehemently, "Inside, I was _quaking_ with nerves to actually be speaking to you.” 

“You were more like the picture of grace under pressure,” he exclaimed, certain of the memory.

She remained modest despite the enthusiasm of his assertion, telling him, “But you see, I was _prepared_ well in advance.  I mean, I knew there were going to be celebrities there, it came with the gig.  So I honestly can’t take much credit for being cool under pressure.  In fact,” Anni took a deep breath, as she decided to reveal the last bit of her secret, “I wasn’t even supposed to have your table.”  She looked a little sheepish at the admission.  “I traded off, when I saw _you_ sitting there.”

 He looked at her with disbelief, so she went on, “Really.  If you didn’t notice, each table had two servers, a man and a woman.  I, uh……well I, um, sort of tipped that balance in my favor.”

“Really?” he asked, intrigued.

“Yes.”  Anni had grown playful, with a hint of pride behind her explanation, “If you didn’t notice, don’t feel bad.  I don’t think many did.”  She laughed softly before continuing, “Erica wouldn’t switch,” she whispered teasingly, “I think she’s got a bit of a thing for you.”  Anni raised her chin, clearly pleased at what she had managed, “So I got Carl to switch instead.”  She took a long swallow of her water before finishing her story, “Had to promise him half my tips, too, the greedy sod!”

Benedict couldn’t hide the look of satisfaction her revelation brought him.  “I’m flattered, Anni.  I hope it’s been worth it.”

She bit her lip, looking thoughtful, her eyes softening, surely remembering all they had shared the night before.  “That it has been, Benedict.”  She sighed a lovely sigh, one so filled with a mix of yearning and the promise of possibilities, that it sent a pleasant shiver through his core, “ _That it has._ ”

* * *

Their discussion inevitably lead to ‘shop talk’, when he mentioned that, housed above the pub, was a very small fringe theatre, whose best success came in their avant garde productions of modern classics, several of which he’d attended in recent years.  Benedict asked to hear more about the one-acts she had written, and Anni’s initial reticence to speak of them eventually gave way under his gentle prodding.  There was an eager light in her eyes, as she spoke of the craft they both loved, and a note of longing in her voice, which he recognized from the early days of his career, when he had faced every opportunity to do live theatre as a gift that he couldn’t get enough of.

Their meal finished, they continued to chat, the bill sitting on the table unheeded for a time.  Anni was listening, rapt as he told her about the movie he would be promoting shortly in Toronto.  She barely spoke as he expounded upon the importance of bringing the story to the world’s attention; and the passion he expressed for doing justice to role for the sake of the real life man that had lived it, left her awed and deeply moved. 

Eventually, though—and very regretfully--Anni had to remind Benedict that she needed to get ready for work that evening.  He hadn’t wanted their afternoon to end, and told her so without hesitation.  That brought a sweet and altogether appealing blush to her face as she admitted to feeling the same.  It was the pleasantest of impasses, but they both realized that even the best of things must come to an end.

And so Anni savored again the ride behind him on his motorbike, the time now passing far too quickly.  This trip found her wondering if he might kiss her again, hoping so with all her might, so that a little shot of adrenaline hit her as she alighted onto the sidewalk in front of her building, in anticipation.  It was the time of final parting for the day, but Anni knew she _had_ to leave it purely up to Benedict if they would see one another again.

She stood before him, shaking loose her hair after removing her helmet, ready to thank him for the amazing time he had shown her, when he spoke what she’d hoped to hear.  “I wish,” he started, then stopped a moment to consider exactly what to say, “I wish the day didn’t have to end so soon.”

“Me too,” she replied, nearly breathless with hope, unable to meet his eyes for fear of showing how very much she wanted more, “It’s been the most amazing time and…well…I have to thank you for _everything_.”  Anni trailed off, hoping he understood that the _best_ of the ‘everything’ was how they had lost themselves for a time in one another, in those sweet brief hours of the night.

Benedict’s brow was knit, as though he was considering something deeply.  He laid a hand on her shoulder, finally deciding, and nodded slightly.  “Anni,” he paused to breathe deeply, “might I see you again?”  He waited only seconds before going on, the words coming out in a rush now, “My schedule is crazy these next couple of weeks, but I really would like to see you again, before I leave for Toronto.  Do you think we could,” he looked a little shy, a little young, the sweet suitor any girl might dream of, “I dunno, maybe dinner or something?”

That was music to Anni’s ears, but she strove to control her relief that he’d finally asked.  “I’d love to, Benedict.  I’m, um…I’m free Friday night.  If that works for you.”  She tried not to hold her breath as she waited for his answer.

He nodded vigorously, breaking into a wide grin, “Friday night would be perfect.  Say 7ish, I can pick you up here?”

“Absolutely!”  And before she could stop the mad impulse, Anni had thrown her arms around him, so happy and hugging him tight, her heart racing in the best of ways.  Drawing back a little, she looked up to see the surprise upon his handsome face, and she was overwhelmed again at how so much of his beauty came from the very goodness and sense of serenity that emanated from him.  She released her hold upon him, shy again at her boldness, but very glad she hadn’t held back.  She stood a little straighter so she could kiss his cheek, telling him softly, “Till Friday, then.” 

Anni turned without another word, knowing that if she looked back to see him again, she was in danger of making a proper fool of herself, excited as she was about the plans for dinner.  But if she _had_ turned back, she would have seen Benedict grinning in her wake, calculating the long hours he’d have to pass until he might be lucky enough to catch her whimsy once again, close within his arms.

* * *

It was only on the trip home that Benedict finally realized—he’d forgotten once again to get her mobile number.  What an idiot, he told himself; but at least he knew where to find her, and they had set a firm time for him to pick her up.  And not having her number could turn out to be a good thing--for he wouldn’t be able to cancel if some further demand on his time arose.

He was rifling through the mail as he walked into the kitchen, thinking he ought to get a start on repacking his luggage (he always had a bag or two packed these days; with three movies due out in the fall, it was the start of serious travel season for him) so that would be one less thing to take care of for Sunday.  He tossed the unimportant items in the bin, leaving the few vital pieces of mail on the counter to peruse more fully later.  His focus remained divided, for Anni was still loitering in the back of his mind, warm thoughts much more pleasant than the grind of travel that lay ahead for him. 

But there was no way he could miss the addition she had made to his refrigerator.  Dead center on the freezer top hung a dog-eared envelope ( _‘she must have pulled that from her bag’_ he supposed), held in place by a cucumber shaped magnet (one of many gag gifts his friends couldn’t resist passing along to him, especially since his name had achieved such stunning notoriety).  The letters and numbers—written in red sharpie, far redder than her lips, but still unmistakably hers—brightly, boldly, spelled out “Anni” and her mobile number.  Benedict stood before it a little while, shaking his head with nothing short of elation.  Clearly, she had had not wanted to rely on the chance that he would ask for her number, and no need for subtlety--as if the way she had held him daringly close on the ride to her flat, and then lingered temptingly while embracing him farewell, wasn’t already insurance enough that he would ring her up, and soon.  Suddenly, Friday seemed a world away, making him wish they’d decided on something sooner.

 

_(to be continued—and very soon, this time!)_

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

__

_“…your smile and the sound of your voice,_

_And the way you see through me._

_Got a feeling you give me no choice_

_And it means a lot to me…"_

(ABBA-  _The Name of the Game_ )

 

The thought of him had barely left her mind in the days since she’d seen him last.  Anni found herself dwelling nearly constantly on the rich memories of their time spent together, or eagerly speculating about where he was and what he might be doing at the moment--her unspoken wish, all the while, that he might be sparing her a thought as well.  Menial chores did not distract her from those pleasant reflections; it was only when a task required her undivided attention that she allowed Benedict to retire to the back of her mind, but never for long.  She found no fault in this behavior, telling herself adamantly that no one of any sense could blame her for her sweet daydreaming.  And counting down by the hour, the time until he would arrive for their dinner date.

But as much as she enjoyed the fancies her mind was playing out, she hadn’t told a soul about what had passed between them, not even her flatmate and sometime confidante, Helene.  Anni guarded her memories jealously—avoiding answering the obvious _“where were you last night?”_ with anything near enough to satisfy Helene’s curiosity—believing that to tell even a bit of it would break the precious spell, jinxing any chance of further developments, or steal the wonderful luster of the pictures her mind was replaying.

She had slept in his borrowed tee shirt both nights since, another delicious little secret.  She wasn’t sure how long she could wait until washing it, but for now it was her pleasure to feel its softness against her skin and smell the faint aroma of his cologne, and she intended to do so as long as possible.

The sweater he had made her wear on their motorbike ride—to thoughtfully keep her from catching a chill—that, she had folded with great care, placing it on the shelf near her front door, where she and Helene usually left their keys, umbrellas and such.  She intended to present it to him some time in the evening, and figured leaving it there would be the best way to remember.

Anni checked her bedside alarm clock, seeing how much longer she had until he arrived.  She’d given herself plenty of time to get ready, skipping out early on her shift (she’d told them she had a massive headache), so she could bathe and shave and pluck, wanting to look her finest ever.  And she was pleased with the results, as she added finishing touches to her make-up and unspooled the hot rollers from her hair.  Everything according to plan; a prized but seldom worn dark green cocktail dress, with lush folds falling from the cinched waist; the color flattered her light complexion and long, dark hair, and the cut played nicely upon her curves, conveniently hiding the flaws she was ever aware of.  Low, black velveteen pumps, for she found anything above a low heel impractical and had vowed long ago to never change that opinion for the sake of _any_ man.  A small, black satin and velvet reticule (how she loved to call it that in her mind) that she’d made in costuming class years ago, and had cherished as one of the few projects she’d successfully sewn all on her own (she’d been famous then for not even being able to thread the bobbin, but her boyfriend at the time was a wiz at such and had usually come to her rescue).  She packed very little in it; flat key, mobile phone, I.D. and a single credit card (for just in case), a small brush, a few makeup essentials—in short, nothing like the other night, when she’d had to awkwardly lug around a full rucksack.  Anni wanted to impress Benedict with her elegance and grace, hoping these came off as effortless, even though she’d worked hours to achieve it all.

In her state of high anticipation, Anni hadn’t much of an appetite, but had forced herself to eat some peanut butter and crackers just so she wouldn’t wolf dinner down gracelessly when the time came.  She planned to take her drink slowly, just to show him she was as sophisticated as any other woman he had taken out—and to allow whatever opportunity _might_ arise between them to play out to its full potential, unlike the minor disaster of his wise refusal at their first encounter.

His knock on her door came promptly at 7:00, and Anni had to force herself to walk calmly to answer it, when her first impulse was to rush over and fling it open.  She took several deep, slow breaths in an effort to appear composed and not to not give herself away as excited beyond words.  That self-control faltered the moment she saw him waiting in the hall, for although she had thought of little else since they last parted, Anni’s memories hadn’t done him the justice he deserved.  Had she really forgotten how breathtakingly beautiful he could be, or was it the context of him standing on _her_ threshold that made her knees feel they were about to give way?    

Benedict was the picture of perfect, casual confidence, one hand tucked in pocket, and the other hovering at his jacket buttons, looking as though he’d just stepped out of a magazine photo shoot  He wore a dark blue suit with a narrow collar, the color a striking compliment to the blue of his eyes, his plain white shirt very crisp looking, with the top few buttons undone, so that she felt a sudden flash of lust remembering how it had felt to lose herself inthe warm hollow of his throat.  Get a grip, Anni, she scolded herself, else there won’t be _any_ chance he will take you seriously.

Though she worried that these thoughts and observations showed so plainly upon her face that she must appear awkward and ungainly, he didn’t seem to find her so.  He actually let out an appreciative sounding breath, the smile spreading across his face spontaneous and rife with the warmth of the best of summer days.  “Anni, you look…” he paused for a quick puff of breath again, shaking his head slightly, “amazing.”

Anni felt pleased and shy and thrilled all at once, looking down as she searched for the right way to respond.  “You don’t have to sound so surprised,” she said, hoping a hint of sass was enough to make him think the compliment hadn’t affected her.  When she looked back at him, aiming to meet his eyes boldly, the look of appraisal set in their soulful depths silenced any further cheekiness. 

“Oh, I’m not surprised in the least.”  He ruffled the hair above his ear with his right hand, and then smoothed it along the back, which Anni remembered as one small tell of self-consciousness.  The contrast to his initial confidence drew from her a surprised sigh; perhaps he was as nervous as she was after all.  The notion brought an involuntary smile to her face.

He raised his chin, eyeing her curiously, “What?”  His smile grew playful, “You look like you know something that I seem to be missing.”  He took a few steps closer, his tone on the edge of suggestiveness, “Is there something you might want to share with me?”

There’s not a lot I _wouldn’t_ want to share, she thought, closing her eyes, biting her lip as she considered the possibilities.  Had he meant it the way she had heard him, or was she projecting the secret wishes that his proximity awakened?   Anni shook her head, hoping the flush he’d inspired—without even trying—wasn’t _too_ painfully obvious, telling him instead, “I was thinking, perhaps we’re both of us nervous.”  Benedict seemed to nod in agreement before she continued, “I’m very out of practice at this.  It might take me a bit to get my bearings.”  She felt a sort of relief at sharing this with him.

Benedict chuckled, “Well, take all the time you need, Anni.  Reservations are for 7:30ish, but we can be flexible about that.”  He stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind him, “I have to be honest, I’m fairly out of practice myself these days.  My schedule hasn’t left me much time lately for a social life.”  He finished with a little shrug of his shoulders that made him look adorably sheepish.  Anni felt her nerves begin to settle a bit.

“Do you live here alone,” he asked, peering about and seeing enough of the small flat to get a quick idea of its layout.

“I’ve got a flatmate, but she spends more time at her boyfriend’s than here.  Which is fine, because it keeps us from getting in each other’s way.”  Anni wondered if she should usher him in, show him about; she’d actually prefer not to, as it hadn’t been properly cleaned in several days and she’d made such a priority of getting herself primped and ready, she’d forgotten the dust bunnies and scattered dirty dishes in the living room until now.

By then he’d caught sight of the series of framed theatrical posters that lined the short hallway’s walls.  They were a mix of productions that she or Helene had been involved with at university, most of them signed by cast and crew.  Hands tucked back in his pockets, Benedict moved over to study them.  Anni could feel embarrassment growing—for how could they not appear to him as small and amateurish?  The evening wasn’t going as she’d hoped, as any air of sophistication she might have managed would surely be squashed by the evidence he was seeing.

“Um, those are…”  Anni lost her train of thought when he turned to her, a wave of wonder at how simply handsome he was, abruptly silencing her.

If he noticed her fumble, he was kind enough to not let on.  “Did that one at uni, too,” he revealed, pointing to the _Lysistrata_ placard, “Who did _you_ play?      

Anni came to his side, standing before the poster, grateful for the distraction of their common ground.  “Kleonike.”

Benedict raised a brow, nodding approvingly, “I can absolutely picture that, Anni. I’m sure you were something sweet to behold.” 

Anni raised a brow back, pleased with his response.  She tapped the glass of the frame lightly, recalling with a quiet laugh, “Set in France, under Louis the 14th.  The costumes were a nightmare, but the irony worked beautifully.”

Benedict turned back from perusing the poster, enjoying the look of her now relaxed profile beside him.  “I’ll just bet it did,” he murmured, waiting patiently for Anni to look his way.  When she did, her eyes widened in genuine surprise at his frank study of her face.  The narrow space between them was electric with expectation.

Anni gasped softly as his hand grazed against the skin of her arm, looking down to the point of accidental contact.  She wondered if he’d meant to do that after all, and if he had any idea of the heated tingle it left behind.  She needed to back off a bit, before she made a fool of herself and asked for more.  “Um, we should probably go, right?”  She didn’t wait for his answer, striving to deny how flustered his touch had left her, “Let me just grab my wrap and my bag.”  Anni moved swiftly to her room down the hall before he could respond.   

It was several minutes before she felt braced enough to face him again.  “Sorry about that,” she fibbed, to cover the extra time she had taken to calm herself, “my boss just called to see if I could pick up an extra shift this weekend.”  She hated even telling that whitest of lies, but the alternative truth was unthinkable to share.

“That’s fine,” he replied, moving in her direction, “then we’ll just be on our way?”

“Wonderful,” she exclaimed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically—for Anni was sure much more time alone with him might get her in the sort of trouble it was best to avoid.  “Would you mind?”  she asked, handing him her velvet wrap, one of the few, true extravagances that she owned. 

“Not at all,” he answered obligingly, his voice luscious and low, as he allowed his fingers to brush against hers, taking the wrap from her hands.  Now that _was_ intentional, Anni thought, no way I can ignore it, no way I _want_ to ignore it.  She felt her heartbeat quicken, but tried her best to keep it from showing on her face.  Benedict moved behind her, as she lifted her hair from the nape of her neck, allowing him to drape the fabric across her shoulders; she closed her eyes, giving herself a moment to enjoy the thrill that ran down her spine at the thought of his closeness, realizing his ever-graceful hands were still pressed against her through the fabric. She let her hair fall back into place. 

Thinking this was maybe sinful, that she might even be reading too much in the moment, Anni was about to speak when she felt him brush his nose and mouth upon her hair.  She knew even before he spoke, that she was undone.

His voice was the low, rich growl she’d heard him use on screen, too many times to number.  It gave him an unfair advantage over her; how on earth could she be expected to behave and resist?  And that he dared to say what any woman in her state would long to hear, “I’ve been thinking about your drunken kisses these past few days.”  Did he need to say more?  No, for Anni’s resolve had become insubstantial; yet he continued, “Wondering what they would taste like sober.”

What choice did she have?  Anni turned to face him, her cheeks feeling aflame, although she met his eyes unflinchingly, “Shall we answer that question now?” her breath held upon his answer.

Benedict smiled wickedly, “Good god, yes.”  Without a further word, he took her face in his hands, moving in to seal her mouth with his.  As before, he took his time, deliberate as he tasted her, the minutes passing unchecked, marked only by her soft whimpers of assent as his lips finally passed from hers so he might kiss the side of her neck.

No longer needed, Anni let her precious wrap slide to the floor as Benedict traced the line of her neck and shoulder, brushing aside the strap of her dress so his lips could savor where his elegant fingers had left off.  She leaned her head back, giving in to his irresistible insistence, softly moaning her pleasure without even meaning to; it just felt too good, too right, to do anything otherwise.

Any caution borne of her hopes of modesty had melted like candle wax in a flame’s heat.  Anni was gladly holding him close, having slid both hands beneath his jacket, feeling the play of the firm muscles of his back and then helping him to shrug it off, to lay upon her wrap at their feet.

Each second seemed now to increase the intensity of his caresses, finally drawing his mouth back to hers.  His ardor was stealing her breath, yet she ached for still more, and Anni was thinking ‘ _we’ve been here before_ ’, knowing that this time things would follow their natural, inevitable course. God, how she wanted that, but not like this.  At this pace they might end up on the floor themselves, and it would be satisfying surely, but also rushed and fumbling.  His right hand had found its way down, lifting her skirt, sliding his fingers beneath her scant lace knickers ( _‘yes, oh yes!’_ she thought, admitting to herself that she had worn them with that very hope) cupping her bare skin, drawing yet another whimper of pleasure from her.  Anni could barely focus enough to say what she needed next. “Benedict, please,” she whispered, as his lips trailed inexorably from one side of her neck to the other “oh please…”

He heard her, yet his mind was so caught up with the taste and the scent and the feel of her, that her tone didn’t quite register. This was Anni asking for all the things he wanted to give.  Both her hands were in his hair, ruffling at first, and then kneading his scalp with her fingertips, surely urging him on.  “Oh sweet jesus,” she managed, gasping her delight when his hand beneath her skirt pulled her flush against him.  Her name nearly caught in his throat as he growled it against the hot flesh of her chest.

“Please,” she was panting, as though it was an effort to even speak, “oh Benedict, please.”  The sweetness of hearing his name on her lips was like to drive him mad with wanting everything he’d turned away just nights before.  But something in the lilt of her words caught his attention, coupled with the firmness of her touch fading slightly, and was enough to bring him back from the brink.

When at last he pulled away and looked at her, Benedict saw a portrait of vulnerability mixed with sure desire.  Anni was breathing hard, her eyes still half closed, and he marked immediately how his kisses had smeared her lipstick upon a mouth that trembled.  Her eyes soon widened and focused on his.  “I’m so, so sorry, Anni,” he blurted out, looking down abashed, releasing his hold upon her.  “I never meant to get so carried away.  Please, please forgive me.”  He felt heartsick and ashamed that he had lost control.

Anni cupped a hand against his cheek, raising his face so he could see the truth on hers, and the sweet-tempered smile that was meant purely for him.  “You misunderstand,” her voice was calm as she bit a lip that trembled still, “I want you to…I want _all_ of it…”  The color of desire still flush on her cheeks, she moved as close as she could, peppering his mouth with gentle kisses, confusing him at first, until he understood.  “Just let me catch up to where you want to be.”  She ended by resting her forehead against his, to wait for his reply.      

“Of course,” he told her, his voice hoarse but filled with relief, “whatever you need.  Just tell me what you need.”

“Well, not here, not in the hallway,” she told him prudently, “it can be so much better than that.”  Anni looked serene, and he could tell their course was sweetly, irrevocably decided—and how could he want it otherwise?  “My room,” she went on, certain of herself, as she saw his understanding grow, “my bed.  Take me there…”  Again, she was breathless, “…and _take_ me, there.”

Benedict brought both her hands to his lips, tenderly kissing the knuckles of each.  He nodded his acceptance of all that she had asked, his mouth creasing with a small smile.  Perhaps in later days, Anni would recall that as _the_ moment when she fell for certain--fell in love with the quiet, honest beauty of his smile--but in this moment, all she wanted was to dissolve into whatever he desired. 

 

_(whew...and of course, to be continued...)_

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY.

Their progress had halted at her bedroom door, as Anni reached to flick on the light.  Benedict stood only a fraction behind her, his right hand pressed against the curve of her waist, his eyes closed as he inhaled the fresh, clean scent of her hair, slowly tracing the fingers of his other hand along her arm and back again.  Anni shivered at his light touch upon the hollow of her elbow, gasping softly, unexpectedly, and then rested her head back against his shoulder.  She raised her right arm behind her, placing her hand on the back of his head, to steady them both, and to tell him he was doing exactly what she wanted, craning her neck just a little to allow his mouth the sensitive flesh where her neck sloped into her shoulder.  “Ohmygod,” she breathed out, her fingers weaving through his hair. “This is a dream, isn’t it?” she whispered, as much to herself as to him.

"No dream, Anni,” he answered, his mouth moving back up her neck until his lips rested against her ear, “No dream could taste this good.”  Her deep, shuddering sigh that followed so begged him to continue, that he swiftly turned her to face him, and backed her against the door jamb. 

“Taste all of me then,” she challenged him, her voice become dusky with desire, “and let me taste you.”  Anni ran gentle fingers along his jawline, moving his face close so that she could do just that; then she was kissing his neck and his throat, murmuring, “God, how I’ve wanted to taste you.”

He hadn’t anticipated such naked need in her declaration, nor the insistent rush of her kisses and the soft little nips she laid upon his lips and skin.  They made him realize Anni craved him in equal portion to the fever he felt for her.  This was far beyond their play of that night past; there would be no stopping until they slaked themselves fully.  While he still had some small measure of control, Benedict needed to be certain.  He caught her face in both hands, to see her eyes flutter open, looking dazed, and then questioning.  He leaned his forehead against hers, catching his breath, “And you’re sure this is what you want?”

Anni purred from deep in her throat, “With everything I am.  I want you, Benedict.”  She laid her hand against his cheek, seeking his clear focus, “There’s nothing I’ve wanted more in a very long time.”  Whatever hesitation he might have felt faded as he read the sincerity in her eyes; he did not need her to say the next, but he would treasure that she had.  “Know that I choose this with my clearest head of all.”  Anni smiled sweetly, her face lit with wonder, “I want this—I want _you—_ more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.”

The light of the look he returned to her—filled with relief, filled with tenderness even in the midst his hot, pressing need for her, filled with what surely were the beginnings of love—blinded her happily, to any other thought or concern. 

* * *

 

And so it was; consent thus given, and gladly received, they followed the prompting of their desires.  Kisses both tantalizing and divine, deep-mouthed and tongue-tangled, to break apart for a time and allow worship of skin and the taste of one another’s salt, learning each other’s most sensitive spots--only the start of such a lesson, though, as the first time always demands fulfillment more quickly than times to follow.  Still, such hungry lips must needs come back again and again to one another, like a touchstone for their love-making.

Benedict fully awakened Anni’s music, after her long period of lonely silence; the lovely notes of the giggles she couldn’t restrain when he found where she was ticklish; the pleasing harmony of her satisfied sighs; the compelling baseline of her heartfelt moans.  And of course, she easily provided him all the measures he might hope for, drawing from him a song he hadn’t played so deeply and in its truest key, for what had felt to him like ages.

The short path to her bed was quickly littered with all that was unnecessary, layers of clothing removed eagerly by hands hungry for the enticing flesh beneath.  The full revelation of her body—lithe with welcoming curves, pliable where he led her, warm and soft and unhesitatingly willing against his own—held Benedict enthralled. His fierce desire to know every inch of her contested with the longing to immerse himself fully in her heat, and the insistence of her touch eventually impelled him to lay her down upon the unmade bed.  He paused just to look at her, to take in the beauty coloured with her wanting him just as much as he wanted her;  the beckoning velvet dark of her hair, the intelligence and clarity of her eyes, the moist fullness of her lips, the creamy length of her neck--the throb of her pulse, making him want to kiss her there--the alluring tightness of her nipples and the natural firmness of her breasts under his palms and then his mouth, the subtle rolling of her hips showing him how ready she was for him.  He had thought her quite pretty all along, but this was an enlightenment; had he really not seen it before? “You’re so beautiful, Anni,” he uttered with the deepest of breaths, “so very beautiful.  And so very…”  Benedict’s voice dropped low, drawing out the last, in all of its meaning, “ripe.”

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard, speechless but clearly moved—and somehow the set of her small, small smile betrayed a sad vulnerability that nearly overwhelmed him with an ache to set right _anything_ that might grieve her so.  Fingertips feather light, he brushed her lips so gingerly that she moved her head slightly to and fro, seeking to increase their pressure, soon parting her lips against his fingers and breathing raggedly.  Raggedly breathing his name.  It forced him to move his face close, to smother her lips with his, to utterly claim her _as_ his.

There was still space between them, as he leaned above her, when Anni wrapped her hand around his erection, surprising him and urging him down upon her.  “Oh gawwwd,” he groaned, his eyes widening as she held onto the back of his neck with her free hand, gazing up at him keenly while beginning to stroke the rock-hard length of his cock.  From base to tip and back again, firmly but slowly, so that each time she reached the tip he gave a hard huff of air, harder with the ecstasy of each stroke.  Her touch obliterated his focus for a time, halting his own caresses as he gave in to hers, squeezing his eyes shut as he started to move in time within her grasp, to the rhythm she was leading.  

Benedict hung his head down beside hers, lost in such pleasure that he hadn’t the will to hold it up.  Anni’s low, husky words lay against his ear, “Oh, Ben.”  The name he preferred only those closest to him to use; it was fitting that she do now as well.  “Touch me please, Ben.  Like I’m touching you.”  Plaintive, longing, irresistible.  In moments his fingers were moving through her soft down, finding that glorious spot, making her gasp at his first, light pass, which in turn made him rub her more firmly.  Anni met his touch eagerly, moving against his hand so like the other night, but this time with nothing between them.

Nipping at his ear lobe, and then sucking it gently, Anni growled a little, surprising him, “Yes, just like that.”  She slid both hands around his back, holding on tight, beginning to writhe beneath him.  “But not too much more,” she panted, “or I’ll explode before you’re even inside me.”  The power she ceded to him was potent, making him all the more anxious to please her.  He pressed hard once more upon the nub of her clitoris, drawing her sharpest gasp yet, before trailing his fingers further along, to feel the wetness awaiting him.

Knowing Anni was hyper-aroused, that both of them lingered on a hair trigger—and wanting a longer consummation than this would allow—Benedict rolled off of her ( _oh, the effort of will_ that _took!_ ), to lay at her side, facing her, tracing soft circles on the taut plane of her belly, watching the rise and fall of her breath to mark when her excitement had abated enough to go fully forward.  Dozens of heartbeats later and in perfect understanding, she turned to face him, every point of contact between them electric.  Anni was staring into his eyes and she nestled the fingers of one hand in his hair, silent and smiling her small, patient smile, making clear that she knew exactly why he had slowed their pace. 

And still Benedict waited, knowing she would give him the signal in due time, with no need for words.  When Anni finally did—nodding nearly imperceptibly—he rolled her gently onto her back, and then covered her body with his own.

Their kisses were less urgent now, but no less gratifying.  Benedict slowly skimmed his way downward, spurred on by the soft sounds of Anni’s delight.  Her hands remained in his hair while she offered herself to him, leaving his lips to paint a path from her mouth to her throat and her shoulders and all along her collarbone, finally lingering on her breasts while she still held him close.  He would have tasted his way along her ribs and lower while she repeated his name over and over, but she could wait no longer, near to begging, “Sweet heaven…but I want you inside me.”  He stayed himself only a little more, while she told him, “I want you…I _need_ you, Ben.  Inside me.  Inside me now.” 

“Yes, Anni, yes,” he crooned, moving so that his face hovered above hers, “Now. And no turning back.”  She nodded up at him, hypnotized with desire. He rose to lean up on his palms while Anni drew her knees back, finally and fully opening to him.  She draped one arm around his neck, her eyes still intent upon his face, and took hold of him again, rubbing his moistened tip several times against her place of greatest sensitivity, eliciting a long moan from him before guiding him down just that little way more, leaving him to do the rest. Her breath heaved through her wide open mouth, and her gasp was further music as Benedict plunged into her without hesitation, the blissful mystery of just what it would be like finding, at last, the beginning of an answer.

It was even better than he had been imagining.  Looking down at her, he was both amazed and relieved that they had finally reached the place which, he now realized, had been destined from the moment he’d followed her down that dimly lit corridor, shedding any pretense that he hadn’t wanted her _exactly_ this way as they chatted and flirted over drinks in that Kensington pub.   Benedict declared his pleasure, unfiltered.  “Oh god…oh god, but you’re snug…” punctuated with a satisfied grunt in his throat.  

Anni’s eyes widened, the flicker of concern upon her features that somehow this was less than he could wish for, making him pause, throbbing inside her, and compelling him to tell her, “No, that’s perfect…… _you’re_ perfect, Anni.”  She closed her eyes, breath shallow, grinding against him in delicious answer.

Thrusting slowly, deep and controlled, pleasing her.  He wanted that as much as he wanted to take pleasure himself; to please her and to feel her want _him_ exactly so. Holding her by her hips, to better bear down hard and unrelenting, with Anni meeting him measure for measure, committed in full, soft hands moving across his skin, reaching to grip his loins tightly, her will to pull him even deeper and as completely as could be. 

Anni’s moans were soft and tremulous at the start, and then gradually intensified as they rose and fell with the rhythm Benedict set.  Whispering his name at first, then moaning it, growing stronger as they ground tight in heavenly friction; such sounds rising ever still from her throat while he drove deep inside her, engorged and seeking that sweetest release.  When her climax commenced, surrounding him fully, driving all thought from his mind, the beat of her blood equal to his, her swift, sharp gasps counterpoint to his groans of satisfaction—he could hold back no longer.  Heavy, hot and aching to burst, Benedict called out her name, ripped from him in exaltation, to explode like a white, cleansing fire inside her.

Both stilled at last, Anni drew a deep, shuddering breath.  Benedict felt her chest expand and contract beneath him, and the long susurration of air, cooling the skin of his neck.  Then she was kissing him, her lips warm against the hollow of his throat, with a tenderness so pure and simple that he nearly couldn’t bear it.  Was it the rush of post-coital hormones that informed his perceptions, or had she already made her way into his heart?  He couldn’t see a clear answer, not with how they were wrapped in one another, their skin slick with each other’s scent.  He could only return to her the same, kissing her forehead, her eyelids, the end of her nose, finishing with the tenderest of kisses upon her mouth, before moving to lie at her side.  He reached his arm across her to hold onto her still, and buried his nose and mouth in her hair, an echo of the very way he had before they had made love. 

They lay in contented silence for a while, until Anni turned to face him.  She ran her fingers through his short hair, and then trailed them along his face, to finish resting them against his scruff.  Looking thoughtful and very happy, she opened her mouth to speak, and then simply smiled.  “What?” he asked, quietly and willing to follow wherever she might lead, “What is it?”

She looked a little bashful, pausing while she decided on her answer.  “That was…oh Benedict, that was amazing.  You’re…” she lowered her eyes, as though embarrassed but not able to keep her feelings to herself, “…you’re amazing…”  Anni trailed off, at a loss for how to express herself without sounding foolish.  “I just need you to know I normally don’t do this sort of thing, well, so quickly.  I haven’t in so very long, and please don’t think I’m easy like that…”

He nodded, smiling his answer, “You’re not that kind of a girl.” 

Anni nodded back, relieved to have him say it aloud.

“Sometimes we break our own rules,” he told her wisely, “and sometimes—like now—it’s very worth the breaking.”  Benedict lifted her chin, to gaze directly into her blue eyes, “Sometimes we just have to trust making a different sort of choice.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

Soothed by the trust in his voice and his touch, and freed of any guilt that she had behaved foolhardily, Anni murmured yes, and allowed herself to relax fully into him. He resolved to hold her close for as many hours as he was able, as much for simple pleasure of it, as for the comfort it would give to her. 

* * *

 

It was closing in on 9:00 pm when Benedict stirred from her side, having remembered his car and driver still waited at the curb in front of Anni’s building.  She had only just fallen into a shallow but wholly contented sleep, resting lightly in his arms.  He had remained alert, not wanting to miss a moment of her afterglow, not even wanting a cigarette as it would draw him away from her embrace--even though she had told him she wouldn’t mind if he smoked, joking that she would take it as a compliment.  Anni had nuzzled happily against his neck when he replied that she had satisfied him so entirely that it might be ages until he needed a smoke again.

Benedict pulled his boxer-briefs back on and quietly slipped from the room to fetch his mobile from the jacket he had abandoned, when he and Anni had finally given in to the magnetic attraction that overrode all their good sense.  It was easy to acknowledge now that they’d been on this course within hours of meeting, and as sincere as his efforts at restraint had been, he realized a part of him _knew_ they would eventually end up exactly here.  And he hadn’t a single regret.

Anni was sitting up against the headboard when he returned to the bedroom, the sheet loosely gathered across her breasts, looking sex-tousled and so beguiling that he felt himself stir again with wanting her. She raised a brow as if questioning him, lifting her chin as if challenging him, the pout of her mouth completing the query—just how could he leave her this way, with no explanation?  It made him want to forgo his call so he could slide under the sheet and fervently make up for daring to venture from her warmth.

She bit her lip as he drew near—damn, but that was enticing enough to make him want to bite it himself—scooting over a little in expectation of him joining her.  Benedict sighed, smiling crookedly, and held up his mobile. 

“Really?” Anni demanded, her ire only a sham meant to tease him, “Have I lost your interest so soon?”  She cast her eyes wide and waifish, waiting upon his response.

He had to chuckle—she was far too charming to resist.  “Just a quick call,” he told her, “and I think you’ll be glad that I made it.”

Anni sighed dramatically, tilting her head enough to signify acceptance.  Benedict sat on the edge of the bed, taping through his contacts to find the one he needed.  

His back was to her as he made his call, holding Anni entranced without even knowing it.  His mussed hair was only the first thing on a long list that made Anni eye him greedily, wondering if it was too soon to go again.  The craving she felt to kiss the nape of his handsome neck and the luscious slope of his shoulders where they rounded into his back, to trace his spine with sweet butterfly kisses while running her hands along his sides that tapered in perfect proportion into his waist, to let her lips linger into the delicious curve of his lower back, was visceral and heady.  It distracted her from the conversation he was having.

“…we’re, um…” Benedict looked back over his shoulder at Anni, moistening his lips and wearing that wicked, sinful-looking grin again, “…we’re dining in tonight.”  He lifted his left brow, asking Anni--in that small way--if this plan was okay with her.  Anni slid further under the sheet, moving down so it covered her head, breathing in the good scent of what they had done together, and hoping to hide the squeal of utter delight his look pulled from her.  “Yes, that will be fine.  I’ll ring you in the morning if I need a lift,” she heard him say, realizing that he was dismissing his car for the evening.  Realizing that he was hers for the night.  Could things get any sweeter?

He put his mobile next to the alarm clock on the nightstand, and turned back find her still beneath the sheet. His tone was deadpan as teased her “Is there something I can help you find?” prompting her to pop her head out from underneath. 

“I’d say my modesty,” she countered, “but you’ve completely wrecked that.”

“Have I?”  He leaned in close, hesitating with his mouth near and ready to taste hers again, “How can I make up for such a trespass?”

Anni’s breath was his breath now, her lips taunting but not quite touching his.  “Mmmmmm.”  She brushed her mouth so softly on his, her lips swollen with desire, redolent of deep kisses past and still to come. “Wreck me some more,” she murmured, “wreck me long, and wreck me hard.”  She took his lower lip between her teeth, tugging back slowly and forcing a moan from his throat, “Wreck me top to bottom.”  Anni was as caught in the spell she wove as he was, not able to stop herself if she had wanted to, “Wreck me good, Ben, and make me cry mercy with it.”

There was no refusing her divine, intoxicating invitation.  Benedict easily slipped the sheet that covered her aside, vowing silently to do whatever it took to please her exactly as she’d asked—even if it meant a long night of very little sleep, practicing exacting patience so as to bring Anni all the pleasure she craved of him.  His reward was an equal share of bone-deep physical satisfaction and the pure delight of her gratification.  

Later it was, much later in fact—near midnight, as it turned out—when hunger pangs from the meal they had missed finally caught up with them, driving them from her bedroom into her small kitchen.   She made him pancakes, as he hovered near, standing behind her, kissing her neck, encircling her waist as she flipped them one by one in a cast iron skillet.  Anni, wearing his borrowed tee shirt again--and only that—Benedict, in his unbuttoned shirt and drawers alone, stood at the kitchen counter, famished, feeding each other, kissing the syrup from one another’s lips between bites, laughing with their newly discovered joy—and each knowing but not saying, that when the meal was through, he’d take her just a little rough, but very urgently, against the countertop.  If asked, each would have said it was all very right, as they both had a wide wealth of making up for lost opportunities to do.

 

_(to be continued--their story is a Romance after all, and far from over!)_


	11. Chapter 11

Morning now.  Benedict lay sleeping on his back.  Anni’s turn to keep watch, and she was glad to do it.  Let him sleep, she told herself, coveting this little time before he awoke and reality would assert itself.  Drinking in every precious detail of his face--the faint, dear smile lines that bracketed his mouth and eyes, his warm, smooth skin covered with its speckling of freckles and auburn scruff, the remarkably fine contours of his cheekbones and jawline.  Even the tiny scar along the corner of his lower lip was a source of fascination for her.  Anni was storing them up in her mind, certain that this was her last opportunity to be this close to him—all this, while the dread of the inevitable goodbye nagged at her, threatening to bring on tears.

She did not, and would not, regret a single moment or act that they had shared.  In truth, it had been the finest night she’d ever spent with a man—making her few other lovers seem like mere, selfish boys.  Benedict’s age and obvious experience certainly had to be a big part of it, but Anni’s heart told her there was an amazingly strong emotional, even spiritual, connection between them.  Her head, however, could not follow suit, and was even now trying to prepare her for the inescapable letdown of watching him walk out of her door, most likely never to return.

Alright then, she told herself, there will be no clinging to him, no asking when she might see him next, and certainly no imploring him to call her again.  She wouldn’t allow herself such futile behavior, not only to maintain her dignity, but so that _if_ Benedict should think of her on some vague day down the road, his memories would be unsullied by any acts of pitiful desperation.  Anni knew the part she’d have to play, and with the proper preparation and mindset, she could carry it off convincingly.  At least she hoped to.

And so with these thoughts replaying beneath her silence, she watched him gradually awaken.  He took a deep breath before cracking open one eye, focusing quickly upon her, disoriented for only a moment or two, and then recognizing her with such an honest, winning smile that her heart flooded with happiness.  Her plan to play it cool was already in danger of failing.

“Well good morning,” he told her, his voice still husky with sleep.  When he cupped his palm against her cheek, Anni couldn’t stop herself nestling against it.  Not good, not good at all, yet she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.  She told him good morning back, managing for the moment to cover the mix of emotions whirling inside her

He yawned briefly, softly stroking the corner of her mouth with his thumb, “What time is it?”

Anni smiled despite herself, mesmerized by his drowsy, half-lidded eyes, “Nearly ten, sleepyhead.  I was starting to think you might snooze the day away.”

“Ah, well…”  He turned onto his side, propping his head up to give her his full attention, “We can’t have that now, can we?”  Before she could reply, Benedict had moved in to land a soft, open-mouthed kiss on her lips, lingering to steal her breath once more, then whispering against them, “Of course, I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

She wanted to blurt out her truest wish—stay and keep those kisses coming, stay and love the day away with me—but Anni knew it would only postpone the heartbreak, and she was ever the one to face her tough medicine squarely.  “No danger of that,” she replied, marshalling a nonchalance she did not feel, “although I’ve got a double tonight, so…”  She trailed off, unable to speak her intended finish—to tell him she needed him on his way so she could get ready.  Anni could already see herself crying into her pillow once he was gone, and she’d need all that time to pull herself together and face her shift ahead with her expected smiles. 

Benedict, however, was hearing a more optimistic tale of lots of time left to spend together.  His smile grew wide as he realized the possibilities, growling deep in anticipation, “Then we’ve hours yet.”  Benedict ran his free hand along the dip of her waist and onto the small of her back, gently urging Anni against him, “Whatever shall we do?”

Anni wanted nothing more than to press her body to his, feeling how readily he had hardened, exhilarated that he wanted her again, and ready for him to sweep her away as thoroughly as he had through the night.  When he cupped her bottom and pulled her to him, she struggled to keep her wits about her--even though his lips demanded her undivided attention.  The joy of hearing Benedict murmur her name as he kissed her face and mouth, rung a moan from her so bittersweet that it stopped him in his tracks.

“Anni dear,” he responded, a little stunned, “what’s wrong?  Are you alright?”  The concern in his voice made her ache even more.  Anni shook her head, burying her face in the crook of his neck, fighting the oh-so-stupid tears that threatened to overwhelm her. 

She couldn’t speak yet, trembling against him as she struggled to fight the tide of her unruly emotions.  She managed to master herself after several deep breaths, filling her lungs with the dear musk of his skin, finally tilting her head back enough so she could see his face.  Benedict’s eyes were open wide now, all trace of sleep gone, replaced with growing anxiety at her state.

“You just have to stop it,” she told him, sighing wistfully.  Benedict looked confused, for the message of her body against his was far different from her words.  “Stop being so bloody perfect, and beautiful, and…and…” Anni stammered, unwillingly revealing more than she had intended, “so…so unattainable.” 

Benedict paused, mouth dropping open with surprise, “Unattainable?”  He chucked her gently under her chin, “Anni…honey…I’m right here.  With no wish to be anywhere _but_ here.” 

Anni shut her eyes and shook her head, irritated with herself, “I know I’m being silly.”  She drew a very decisive sigh, and when she opened her eyes, she appeared calm but resigned. “I’m a big girl and I know how these things work.  It’s just that you’re so,” she looked away, in search of the perfect word, “extraordinary.  It makes letting go…well…very difficult.”

Perplexed, Benedict’s brows drew together, as he asked, “Letting go?  Where is this coming from?”

In answer, she simply rolled her eyes, her mouth grown tight, as though he should already know exactly where _and_ why.

“Have I said or done _anything_ to make you think I’m looking for the fire exit?”  His gaze held her firmly in place.  Anni gave the barest shake of her head to indicate ‘no’.  “And isn’t it obvious to you that I want the exact opposite?”

Her expression softened with relief, her tension beginning to drain away, but the sadness behind her eyes remained.  It was enough to make him melt a little, unable to restrain a tender smile of realization, “Ohhhh, Anni.  My dear, sweet, little Anni.”  She closed her eyes upon hearing such endearments, spurring him gently kiss her brow and tell her, “If you’re thinking this is just a one-off, nothing could be further from the truth.”     

She eyed him silently as though the question was yet unsettled.  “Anni, I mean it, I really do.  This isn’t just some hook-up.  I don’t do that, haven’t done that since my first years at University.”  When she still looked a little skeptical, he continued adamantly, “Please believe me. I _will_ be back.  In fact, you just _try_ and keep me away.”

Anni had to look away from the frankness upon his face, trying her best to hide from him that she wanted to believe--yearned to believe--and that she had already invested far too much of her heart in the things they had shared through the night. It would do no good for him to see any of that, she reminded herself; this encounter was too good to last beyond these golden hours, for he has the world at his feet, and his world is a far separate reality than the one that is my daily life.

Benedict lifted her chin so that her eyes could meet his, wanting her to read their sincerity, “I like you, Anni.  I honestly do.”

Uncertainty lingered in her eyes, as she quietly scoffed, “Why?  Why would that be?”

He drew a deep breath, the quirk of a smile warming his face, “That’s an easy one.”  He traced his fingers lightly along her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear, then leaving his hand to rest there, “Because you’re smart.”  Taking his time, pausing between each thing, committed to make clear to her exactly how he felt. “And funny.”  His mouth hung open a moment, making him look a little hungry, causing Anni’s breath to catch as he added, “And incredibly sexy, without any artifice.”

Anni closed her eyes, this time not wanting to betray how his compliments thrilled her.  Benedict was stroking her skin with his thumb, and she felt herself melting once again.  “And you’re soft, in all the right places.”

“Aha,” she replied, daring to open her eyes, a hint of cynicism creeping into her voice, “Knew that had to be part of it.”

“Not just that,” he laughed, moving his hand to brush his fingertips above her heart, “but here, where it really matters.”

Anni exhaled sharply, nearly overcome by the truth she read on his exquisite face.  The warmth of his fingers brushing her skin paled next to the feeling that he’d pierced her heart, lodging himself there indelibly.  She didn’t trust herself to speak at first, searching instead for some way to slow the head-over-heels tumble she was taking.  “Now see,” she finally managed, her mouth grown dry with mild panic as she fought her natural inclination to cleave to him entirely, “that’s just the sort of thing I mean.”

“Hmmmm?” he asked, the brush of his fingers turning bolder, fondling her breast in the way he had already learned she had no defense against, hardening her nipple against his palm and forcing her to whimper involuntarily.  “What sort of thing is that?”

She was quickly losing the presence of mind for a cogent answer, but Anni tried nonetheless, “Being so kind, so charming.”  She tilted her head back, allowing him to better kiss the sensitive skin of her throat, “being completely irresistible.”  Benedict was well on his way to making her forget her earlier ruminations, leading her down that sweet path again, “Being much too good in every way, so that a woman can’t help herself.” 

“Shall I stop, Anni?” was his gentlest of challenges, already knowing her answer wouldn’t be yes.

“Damn you, Benedict, no.”  She was wonderfully weak against his advances, for he’d already learned perfectly her path of least resistance.  “Just this once more,” she whispered, her fingers weaving through his hair, guiding him down to all the places aching for his attention.  Just this once more, she told herself, to sink into and treasure, before the true fare-thee-welling shall begin.

* * *

 

Waking this time, Anni discovered herself alone after all.  Although she had tried to prepare herself for this eventuality, she felt crestfallen and a little melancholy.  So, Benedict _hadn’t_ given her the chance for goodbye it appeared, but she could not hold it against him—for perhaps he had believed it would be better to leave untarnished, the memory of their last intimacies.  She hoped it was a memory that would be a source of secret warmth and private smiles for him, at least some day in the future.

Anni pulled the pillow that he had slept upon to her, pressing her face into it so she could catch the remains of the scent he’d left behind.  I can handle this, she told herself, I knew how this was sure to end going in, and I’d still make the exact choices again if given the opportunity.  The short time he’d been all hers had been glorious, and to expect more would be silly and quite greedy.  She had no right or standing to envisage such—yet such was the state of her heart that she knew it would be a long time until any other man moved her the way Benedict had done.

Nodding to herself, affirming that she needn’t wallow in missing what could never—in the big picture—be hers for the keeping anyway, she considered the return to her ordinary life.  Anni glanced at her bedside alarm clock, noting it was almost 1:00 pm, thinking she might as well have some lunch and then a shower before heading into work.  Her heart just about skipped a beat when she noticed that Benedict’s mobile still sat on her nightstand.

Don’t get your hopes up girl, she thought; he could easily have forgotten it—but she found herself straining to hear any sound that might mean that he was still somewhere in her flat.  At first there was only the sound of her own excited breathing, and the pounding of her blood in her ears as expectation sped up her heart.  Then there it was, the sound of the shower running, her shower, which he would shortly find--if he hadn’t already—didn’t last long with the hot water.  Anni turned onto her back, still hugging the pillow to her face to soften her squeal of delight, thrilled that Benedict had not left after all, and that he even felt comfortable enough to make himself right at home.

Listening quietly now, she allowed herself the vision of him lathering her shampoo through his hair, and then leaning his head back to rinse it away.  It made her inordinately happy.  When the fall of water stopped she drew a deep, hopeful sigh, anticipating his return to her little bedroom to at least gather his clothes, which she now realized still lay where they’d fallen all those delicious hours before.

Benedict must have thought her still asleep, entering her room silently, a towel wrapped around his waist.  To Anni’s eyes, he was Adonis, or Michelangelo’s _David_ \--a very work of art in fact, but warm-blooded and blood-warming, his hair damp and still askew from how he’d toweled it dry.  Finding her awake, he greeted her with his cheekiest grin, “Hope you don’t mind, I took a quick shower,” his blue eyes clear and looking so happy, that her heart felt like to burst with tender affection.

“Not at all,” she replied, watching as he began to dress.  He turned his back to her as he did so, making Anni speculate that he was attempting a bit of decorum for her sake.  That being the case, she felt that his intention was sweet, but the view was even sweeter, and so she tried her best to suppress a sigh of appreciation.  He heard her anyway.

He came to sit beside her on the bed.  “Dunno about you, but I’m famished.  I’m no great shakes in the kitchen,” he told her, rolling his eyes at what he thought of such incompetence, “but I can manage a pretty failsafe omelet on occasion.  Interested?”

Anni laughed softly at his self-deprecation.  “Really, Benedict--I thought you were quite marvelous in the kitchen last night.”  She adored the smile that brought to his eyes and mouth.  “I would _love_ to try anything else you might cook up.”

He bit his lip in honest enjoyment of her play on words.  Benedict rose, motioning towards the door.  “Great.  I’ll…um…” ducking his head almost shyly, while smoothing down his mussed hair, “I’ll make a start.  You can…um…join me when you’re ready.”  His diffidence was charming her all over again, making Anni wish for hours and hours more to go before he had to leave.  She watched him out the door, before rising and wrapping her robe tightly about her ( _“Best I should avoid temptation_ ,” she mumbled to herself), and then took a quick peek in the mirror to make sure she wasn’t too much of a shambles.  Satisfied she was passing fair, she went to join him in the kitchen.

She found him chopping tomato and a bit of green pepper, impressing her with how well he handled the blade, before he moved on to cracking several eggs and beating them briskly with a fair portion of milk, salt and pepper.  “Toast with these?” he asked, as Anni snuck a piece of pepper from the cutting board, crunching into the skin and the crisp flesh beneath.  “Let me,” she told him, grabbing a loaf from the breadbox.  Once she set the slices to toast, Anni took a seat at the kitchen island, observing Benedict pour his mix into the heated skillet.  The melted butter sizzled and popped, making her mouth water.

Anni watched quietly, fascinated at the confidence of his hands as he added cheese and veggies to the eggs, using the spatula to check the edges and soon folding the omelet over on itself.  The same, elegant hands that had touched her so provocatively, so intimately, and at times quite possessively.  She closed her eyes, sighing in such pleasant recollection, that when she opened them, she found him regarding her curiously.  “Big fan of omelets, are you?” he asked, although the gleam in his eyes told her he likely knew _exactly_ what she’d been thinking.  She was surprised to feel herself blush; considering the ways they’d spent the hours since he’d arrived at her flat, Anni would’ve thought she was beyond that with him.

“I could fix you some coffee, or tea if you prefer,” she offered quickly, changing the subject to avoid being too obvious in her thoughts.  She got up to pull a couple of plates from a cabinet, and then moved back to place them on the island counter.

Benedict slid her share of omelet onto her plate, “No thanks, although I'll take something cold if you have anything.”  She promptly got a carton of orange juice from the fridge, pouring enough for both of them, and joined him to tuck in.

Anni hadn’t realized how hungry she actually was until she took her first few forkfuls.  “This is…Benedict, this is _really_ good.”  She tried not to look or sound too surprised. 

“Thanks,” he replied with a nod and a wry smile, “although I’ll take that with a grain of salt.”

“No, really,” she insisted. “You truly are a man of many…” Anni bit her lip, drawing a small sigh without even meaning to, contemplating everything she had learned about him in their brief but very full acquaintance, “… _many_ talents.”  She had to look down to her plate, before she gave her feelings completely away.  Glancing back at him, she met that appraising stare of his again, the one that told her surely enough that the chemistry between them had not yet been completely resolved.  “Um…” she searched for something to break the building tension, “…jam?”  Benedict didn’t even blink.  Anni rose and moved quickly, gathering a jar from the refrigerator door, and then returned to the island counter, placing it next to his plate.  “For your toast…” Her voice was low in the quiet room, on the edge of breathlessness.

Benedict slid his hand closer, to cover hers, his touch another confirmation that they hadn’t finished with each other yet.  “Anni,” he started, folding her hand in his and slowly bringing it to his lips, kissing from the center of her palm and along to her wrist with deliberate care, “I meant what I said earlier.  I want to see you again.”  How could he know that was exactly what she wanted to hear?  His uncanny knack for making her knees weak continued unabated.

She raised her chin, nodding slightly, “Just name the time and place, Ben.  I’ll be there.”  Anni caressed the soft growth of beard along his jawline, waiting for his next reply.  He did not disappoint her; in one swift, fluid move, he pulled her to him by her waist, one-handed, the other hand twining in her hair.  This time his kisses tasted of green peppers, and she had never craved that flavor more in her life. 

But Anni kept her head about her now, conscious of the time for both their sakes.  They kissed and clung, and Benedict whispered sweet nothings enough to dizzy her, but she let it go no farther than that, and no farther than the kitchen.  If he meant it, if his promise was sincere—and Anni was gradually allowing her stubborn mind to accept that possibility—there would be other chances for revisiting all the night’s pleasures and beyond.  “Patience, only patience,” she murmured between kisses, not even realizing she’d said it aloud. 

At last she pulled away from him, reluctant but bowing to her obligations, “I suppose you’d better go, Ben…dear,” surprising herself that she dared to call him so.  Anni backed against the fridge, hoping the distance was enough to cool their connection.  She watched him brush his fingertips across his lips, making her wonder if that was his way of holding on a while yet to the feel of her kisses

Composure regained, Benedict nodded, “Of course.  I shouldn’t keep you any longer.”  Anni was thrilled to see that he clearly felt the opposite.  “I told you I’m flying to Toronto tomorrow?”

“Uh-huh…”   Anni waited, calm now and sure he was leading to more.

“I wish…”  She thought she could read in his eyes what he planned to say next, and nodded to encourage him, “Christ…I wish the timing was better.”  He let out a huff, shaking his head as he went on, “It’s the start of, well, the most vital season of promotion I’ve ever done, for a film that’s absolutely the most important that I’ve ever been involved with, yet…”  He looked away a moment, a moment of reticence before admitting a startling truth, “Yet all I can think about right now is how far away you’ll be from me, and how incredibly long the days are going to be ‘til I see you again.”

Benedict’s earnest assertion astounded her, forcing Anni to close her eyes for several moments with the effort to hide the euphoria that might reveal her as a fool.  Meaning to play the moment as ordinary, she managed a humble rejoinder, “I’m sure with everything you have to do, you won’t even have a chance to spare me a thought.”

“Don’t do that, Anni.”  His voice was gentle but firm, his expression tender as he recognized she was trying to shield herself from disappointment, “Don’t underestimate the pull you’re having on my heart.”  

She averted her eyes, fearing to trust the candor in his tone and on his face, as the voice of past experience continued to pester her to protect her own heart.  She mumbled to herself, “There you are again, being too wonderful and perfect to be real.”

Cautious for her sake, he took a few steps closer to her.  “I’m just a man, Anni.”  Benedict shrugged, touched by her quiet praise, “Fallible yes, but I like to think a _good_ one.”  He paused to watch her take it in. “With only the best of intentions.”  He stood before her as he finished, tilting her face up to his, “Do you think you could see your way clear to allowing me to prove it?”

She breathed very deeply, the self-protectiveness slowly dissolving from her face and posture, “I suppose I could give it my best.”  She met his eyes again, warm eyes framed with the crinkles of his smile, just about stopping the heart in question with their sincerity.  Anni bit her tongue to keep from telling him how beautiful they were and that she’d do just about anything to keep him looking at her in exactly this way.  The moment passed too quickly.

Benedict took her by the shoulders, indulgently, confidently. “There, that’s my girl,” he told her, kissing the top of her head.  “Now, where’s your mobile?”

“Huh?” she murmured, a bit confused and now reveling inside that he had called her his.

“Your mobile,” he replied, “I need it a moment, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, um…”  Anni thought back to when she had it last; in her velvet bag, which lay still on the hallway floor.  She had to smile at _that_ memory.  “Let me get it from my bag.”  Without asking, Benedict followed her out of the kitchen.

Reclaiming it, she handed it to him, perplexed “But if you need to make a call, yours is still on my nightstand.”

“Yes, I’ll get that in a moment.”  He chuckled to himself as his fingers played across her keys.  “I’m programming in my number so you can call me.  So you can text,” he handed it back to Anni, “…and so when I call and text you, you’ll know it’s not just some loon stalking you.” His grin was toothy and pleased.

Anni found a return to her typical cheekiness called for.  “Oh—you’ll be _stalking_ me?”

“Yes…um, no!”  Benedict laughed in happy surprise at how she had caught him out, sheepishly running a hand through his hair. 

Back in her stride, Anni kept herself from telling him how utterly adorable that made him look ( _‘probably knows that, anyway’_ she thought).  He continued without missing a beat as he handed the phone back to her, “But I _will_ be calling, and I _will_ be texting.  Count on it.”

“Alright,” she replied, her insouciance fully restored, “I _will_.”

* * *

 

In the end, Benedict filled her in on his travel details, reminding Anni several times that he would be in touch throughout his trip, and keenly asking what her work schedule would be for the weekend. He told her that he planned to stay as close to London time as he could for the duration of his trip, so to play less havoc with his internal clock; he had a read-through for _The Hollow Crown_ series, literally the moment he landed back at Heathrow, and he didn’t intend to be yawning or nodding off through the whole thing.   Anni delighted in his irrepressible excitement about playing Richard III, although she knew it would add to the hours she’d have to wait to see him again.  She found any mention of his work captivating, thrilled that he would share such details with her.

He’d called for a taxi to bear him away, and by the time it arrived, both were very conscious that the kiss goodbye couldn’t be delayed any longer.  Standing before her door, amazed still at all that had passed between them, Anni remembered his sweater sitting on the shelf.  She tried to hand it to him, “Oh, and here’s your jumper from the other day, before I forget again.”

Benedict looked surprised, as he had forgotten she still had it, but would not take it from her.  “Keep it for now,” he told her, “in case you catch a chill while I’m away.”  When she opened her mouth to object, he brushed her hair back familiarly and added, “I’d like to think some part of me is left behind to keep you warm.”  And so she acquiesced, moving into his arms and kissing him a deep farewell.

* * *

 

His first text was awaiting her when she stepped out of the shower; the time on it showed he’d sent in on his ride home, barely fifteen minutes after leaving her.

 _“Anni, for the record—_ you’re _the extraordinary one.  And I look forward to proving it to you in every way I can."_

No less surprising--but far dearer to her heart--she arrived home after work (which she had practically floated through on a haze of happiness and goodwill) to find a note taped to her door, from her neighbors across the hall, telling her they had signed for a package for her earlier in the evening.  Flowers, she guessed; well of course, for he _was_ just that sort of old-fashioned Romantic.  It was already after 11:00 and Anni knew she should wait until the morning—they were a quaint older couple, pensioners both, and surely they would be abed already.  She stood, note in hand, deliberating only briefly, before dashing across and rapping on their door.

The door opened the length of the chain and a single eye peered out at her.  “Ah, Anni—was hoping you’d stop by soon.  My programme just ended and I was about to go to kip down for the night.”  The door closed a moment, while the old man loosened the chain to open it wide.  “Well c’mon” he hastened her, cinching his natty bathrobe a bit tighter. “Edith couldn’t wait up, she was falling asleep in front of the telly an hour ago,” he chortled as he led her into the darkened front room, lit only by the flickering light of the television.  Sitting on the low table in front of the worn-out sofa was a deep, square, Tiffany-blue box, with a wide white ribbon wrapped around it.  It didn’t look the sort of box to hold flowers. 

“It’s a heavy one, too,” he told her, motioning for her to pick it up.  “You be careful now.”  Anni lifted the package with care, discovering it was far heavier than she even expected.  “Well now,” the old man went on, “what’s inside?”

“I’ve no idea,” Anni murmured with wonder.  There was no indication of where the box came from except for the distinctive color, and no note attached.  She was intrigued—and certain it had to have come from Benedict.  Anni turned back to the grandfatherly gent, “But thank you, Cy, for holding this for me.  Hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Bah—none at all, my dear.”  He leaned in close to tell her in a confidential tone, “It’s the most excitement we’ve seen here on a Saturday night in months.  Edith was guessing it’s from a gentleman caller.”  He winked at Anni, “Was she right?”

Anni inclined her head towards him, answering in a hushed tone before planting a light kiss upon his stubbled cheek, “I think she is.”

She remained patient about opening the box only until she closed the door of her flat behind her, rushing into the living room and plopping onto the couch to open it.  Removing the lid, Anni found a mass of cushiony packing material, and underneath that a bottled shape, wrapped generously in the same to protect it from breakage.  On either side of the bottle rested slender boxes, also of Tiffany-blue.  There was a white envelope with her name written in black ink, but eager as she was to read what was inside, Anni took her time to enjoy the anticipation of whatever sweet surprise his words might bring.

 _Please keep this well-chilled until I return.  I’ll remain quite thirsty until I see you again._   

_Ben_

Anni traced his name with her finger, cherishing the simplicity of his message, and then unwrapped the bottle.  Even having guessed just what it would contain, it took her breath away.  A 2004 bottle of Dom Perignon; the boxes on either side, Waterford crystal champagne stems.  One for each of them, of course.

Her hands were shaking a little from the blissful rush filling her mind and heart; as she typed out a text, she had to restart several times, looking for the perfect response, and hitting the wrong keys in her eagerness to send him her own message.  “ _I’m quite thirsty myself, at the moment, but I can chill this as long as you need.”_ Upon further thought, Anni sent along a follow up _, “After all, good things come to those who wait.  You’ve proven that most convincingly._ ”

It was several minutes until Benedict responded; she had started to think he was already asleep for the night.  “ _Indeed they do! Sweet dreams, Anni._ ”

She had a strong feeling that her dreams this night--and in nights to come--would be among the sweetest of her life.  Anni wished him the same, and then added, “ _A thousand times goodnight, Ben dear._ ”

 

_(to be continued—I hope…)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Anni’s final text quotes Shakespeare; Juliet from the Act II balcony scene. Given their common background, I couldn’t resist...and if you’ve been paying attention, it wasn’t her first such reference in this tale!)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is very much an Alternate Universe, I have taken the liberty of relaxing aviation rules regarding in-flight texting; however, my research shows that many countries/airlines are allowing more & varied used of electronic technologies, so I believe it is within reason that I have given my characters that option.

She had fallen asleep without bothering to set the alarm, distracted by the rich memories of the past 24+ hours—so that she missed the morning text Benedict had sent.  Groggy with satisfied sleep, Anni had reached for her mobile out of habit, not expecting anything special; indeed, for the moment, not even recalling the luscious thoughts that had ushered her into slumber.  His message was the pleasantest of surprises.

_“En route to Heathrow for my flight.  Wish I was on my way to you.”_

Anni turned onto her back, stretching into a delicious yawn while sinking her head deeper into her pillow, finally voicing her happiness with a contented rumble in her throat.  She closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths, recalling the treasured details of their lovemaking.  The insistent fullness of his lips and how dedicated they’d been to discovering the secrets of her body.  The tender vigor of his touch and the divine weight of his body upon hers.  The sound of her name when he whispered it against her flesh, or better still, as he groaned it when his pleasure peaked.  The heavenly heat of their friction, the memory enough to make her bite her lower lip hard, wishing he was there and filling her again.

But he was already far away, surely flying still, far above the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.  Toronto, as good as the whole world away.  Benedict had assured her that out of sight was _not_ out of mind, and although Anni had reasons to distrust the promises of men, her heart trusted the pledge _he_ had given.  She need only look at the note—the envelope now propped against the lamp on her bedtable--that came with his gift to her, for proof of his word.  Her memories of him, and of their golden hours together, kindled such a warmth in her vitals that is was all the evidence she needed that she was stuck on him but good.

Anni did her best to concentrate so she might compose a message back to please him.  She knew he might not see it until his plane landed, but she imagined the small, quiet smile that would light his eyes and mouth, smiling herself at the possibility of affecting him so, across the thousands of kilometers that separated them.

_“I can still smell you on my pillowcase.  It makes me reluctant to get out of bed.”_

She wasn’t even sure if texts could be received by someone in flight, but Anni had hours at her leisure before her shift began, and was happy to wait upon his response.  In the meantime she could indulge in daydreaming, daring to imagine Benedict’s return and how they would drink champagne again, before drinking of one another.

Her mobile vibrated in her hand, pulling her back to reality, sweet expectation making her heart skip in delight.  His reply was as wonderful as she’d wished, _“Don’t tease me like that, Anni, when I’m too far away to do anything about it.”_

“O, trespass sweetly urged,” she whispered, “give me my sin again.”  Her answer was coy and swift, _“Oh. So sorry…but I can’t help it if thinking of you makes me want to misbehave.”_ Anni held her breath without even realizing it, picturing his look of pleasant surprise that she hoped her saucy text had elicited.

Silence ensued as he must have considered his comeback.  _“You know, for such a sweet girl,”_ he told her, _“you have a delectable streak of wickedness.”_

“ _Exactly_ _so,”_ she laughed softly, typing back, _“You’ve only just figured that out?”_

There was a longer wait for his next, leaving her dangling and keen to continue.  And then finally, his reply-- _“No.  Thinking back, I suppose I heard it in your laugh, after I knocked you on your arse, at the opera house_.”

Anni drew a deep, longing sigh, wishing even harder that he was at her side so she could hear the humor in his voice, and feel its rich vibration as she laid her palm against his chest.  It made her ache with wanting him near.  _“Touché, Ben dear.  Although to be fair…”_   Anni let her text trail off, as she would’ve were she able to speak to him directly, so to leave him hanging a bit and hopefully wanting more.  She took several beats before continuing with another text, _“…you inspire_ such _wickedness in me, in ways no man has for far too long.”_

He followed her lead easily, _“And although I really should be napping right now, what with the long, tiring days ahead of me…”_ She wondered if he ached at all for her, as he made her wait too, finally teasing her with a follow-up text, _“…I haven’t been able to, for fantasizing about you_.” 

Anni exhaled forcefully, her ready playfulness faltering as his words weakened her bravado. _“Dear god, Ben.  Even so far apart, you take my breath away.”_   It seemed that distance from him was no impediment to attraction; dare she look for him to think the same?

 _“The feeling is completely mutual, my little darling.”_ This was the balm her heart was waiting for.  And still he waxed on, _“Was Saturday only yesterday?  It feels like it’s been days since I touched you.”_

“ _Be careful, Ben.  You’re bound to spoil me with such sweet talk._ ”

“ _It’s only the truth, Anni.  But it would be my great pleasure to spoil you._ ”

“ _Then you’re well on your way.  What can I offer in return?_ ”

There was a longer pause; Anni guessed he must be giving her question due consideration.  “ _Just stay your same, sweet self.  A man couldn’t expect any more than that._ ”

It had been many months since any man had complimented her so, and Anni felt a little flustered at how to answer that.  Thank you didn’t seem quite enough.  Her fingers hovered over the keys as she considered just what to text back.  Before she could reply, he’d sent another.  “ _They just announced we’ll be landing soon, so I have to put my phone away._ ”

_“And just when things were getting good too.”_

“ _I know.  But we can pick this up later, don’t you think?_ ”

That was exactly what Anni had been hoping, and she was gratified she didn’t have to suggest it.  “ _I’m done around 9:00 tonight—if you’re not too busy.  If you are, I will completely understand._ ”  No pressure, she told herself, but still she hoped he would follow through.

“ _Alright then.  Expect to hear from me later then.  Take care, Anni._ ”

She drew a resigned sigh; back to her reality it would have to be.  “ _You too, Ben dear._ ”  Anni paused before deciding to add, “ _xox_ ” before hitting the send button one last time.  In truth, it was exactly how she felt, and the risk of looking silly could not outweigh the thought that she had likely made him smile once again.

* * *

Sunday and Monday nights were often the slowest nights of the week, and after this evening’s early dinner rush, Anni found the time just dragged along.  She had told Benedict she was supposed to keep her mobile off when she was on duty; it was a rule that very few of her co-workers honored, but she believed it led to better service and hopefully better tips, if she didn’t leave herself open to such distractions.  As much as she was itching to see if he had texted her yet, she maintained her discipline, watching the clock while trying to imagine just what he might be doing, and fancying that he might miss her as much as she was missing him.  Nine pm couldn’t come fast enough.

Once free for the night, Anni caught the tube home, exerting a patience she didn’t feel to keep herself from texting Benedict. It was early evening in Toronto, and she was sure he was busy anyway—and she didn’t want him to think she was the clingy sort, who demanded constant attention. She decided she’d fix herself a light snack and zone out in front of the telly, to watch something mindless enough to divert her from the growing impatience in her fingers.  At this rate, it was going to be a very long week—but he was worth every moment of the wait.

She surprised herself, however, for when she leaned her head against the sofa back and closed her eyes (‘ _just during the adverts_ ’ she’d told herself), Anni began to drift off to the background drone of the nightly news.  She immediately woke when her phone buzzed a text alert.

“ _Still awake?_ ” he asked.  

Anni took a minute, not wanting to give the impression she had been waiting on him.  “ _For the moment,_ ” she replied. “ _How’s Toronto?_ ”

“ _Bursting with_   _expectation, but that’s no surprise._  H _ow are you?_ ”

Her first impulse was to tell him that she missed him terribly, but she didn’t want to come across as needy.  “ _More than ready to settle in for the night.  You?”_

“ _That should be obvious,_ ” he quipped, “ _Very much missing you._ ”

Anni didn’t intend to fall to his charm too easily. “ _Now you’re just teasing me.  I’ll bet you have far more interesting things to do._ ”

“ _Nothing quite so pleasant as picturing you tucked in warmly & hopefully missing me too._”

She closed her eyes, relieved to see she was on his mind in such a way, despite the many hours and distance between them--yet she still couldn’t admit to him that she’d spent most of the day in anticipation of hearing from him again.  “ _Really,_   _Benedict.._.” she typed, aiming to sound casual, “ _You must have a better way to pass the time tonight.  Dinner or a party or something?_ ”

His reply came quickly, “ _Had dinner earlier with some friends from the film, but I’m free for the rest of the evening._ ”  And then, before she could comment back,  _“This is actually my only downtime before all the madness begins._ ”

Reticent to suggest it, Anni told him nevertheless, _“Then you ought to be resting.”_

He agreed without hesitation, “ _Yes, I should. But when I close my eyes, I start thinking of you.  A wonderful distraction, but not conducive to sleep.”_

Anni felt herself caving in to her most tender feelings for him, _“I should be good and tell you to stop.”_ She paused, picturing him as he waited for her response, _“But somehow I just can’t.”_

_“I couldn’t comply anyway. Tell me you feel the same way.”_

His words cut through her reluctance to share her truest sentiments, _“That I’m lying here, wishing you were beside me?”_

_“Yes.”_

She was in it now, no concealing how she felt.   _“That I miss the feel of your lips against mine, and the strength of your hands pulling me close?”_

_“YES.”_

Anni’s heart swelled with the quiet yearning that had settled there since Benedict’s departure from her flat.   _“I miss the sound of your voice, Ben, and hearing you say my name._ ”  Perhaps she was revealing too much, crossing the line from playfulness to a neediness she would rather keep hidden—but in this, as in nearly every interaction between them, he was making her break the hard-learned rules she had set for herself.  

Moments passed, with no reply, so that Anni started to wonder if her last text was too much after all, making her fret that her words had fallen flat or struck him as false.  She clutched her phone close, willing it to buzz in her hand with his answer.  When it rang instead, she grumbled in irritation.  This interruption was not what she needed; she had to keep the line open in the hope he was texting her even now.  She glared at the screen, realizing it was Benedict himself calling. Anni answered it, a little breathless.

“This electronic flirtation just doesn’t cut it.” His voice was slightly raspy—perhaps he’d been smoking, surely he was tired—but whatever the case, Anni was happy to hear it. “I need to gaze in your eyes, Anni.  I need to hear your voice.”

Anni was struck dumb by the undisguised longing in his tone, at a loss to respond.  “Anni, are you there?” he asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“What shall I say?” she countered softly, glad to hear even the gentle sound of his breathing, half a world away.

“Anything,” he told her, “Tell me about your day.  Your plans for tomorrow.”  Benedict’s voice was so soothing that Anni leaned her head back again, closing her eyes to try and imagine him in the low light of his hotel room, long legs stretched out comfortably on the counterpane.  He paused for breath and then continued, keeping her enthralled with his velvet pitch, “A fond childhood memory.  Your list for marketing.  Anything at all.  Anything it would please you to share.”

“I’d rather just listen to you,” Anni sighed in punctuation, wondering if he could hear the smile in her voice.

He chuckled warmly, “Would you really?”

She had reached for the remote, turning off the television, before fully reclining and resting her head on the arm of the sofa.  “Uh-huh.  All day,” she drew a long, deep breath, finishing as she exhaled, “every day.”

“You’re easy on the ego, Anni.  As if I have any need for feeding mine any further,” he told her drolly, “But if you insist…”

She answered simply, “Yes please.”

“I’ll probably bore you right to sleep,” he warned her, ready to poke fun at himself.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Ben,” she countered, “Although it would be a pleasure to drift off to the sound of your voice.”  Anni’s plea came from the heart, “Please.  Indulge me even a little?”

And so he obliged her easily, sharing the details of what his days ahead held in store.   More than once, Anni found herself speculating what it might be like to be a gentle haven of sorts, waiting for him at the end of such long, demanding days.  To be the lucky one to offer quiet and homey comfort, once the doors closed for the day against the persistent demands on his time.  She knew it was pure fantasy—the kind she’d turned her back on ages ago, when faced with her own disappointing realities—yet the idea filled her with a wonderful longing.  She shook it off as best she could, being certain that not a hint of such thoughts crept into her voice.  

“I suppose it would be useless to tell you to take it easy on yourself?” she asked, wishing there was some small way she could ease his course.

“No rest for the weary,” he replied, stifling a yawn, “but I do appreciate the sentiment.”  His voice took on a deeper seriousness, “And please don’t think I’m complaining.  I _know_ I’ve been blessed beyond any measure.  It’s an extremely small price to pay for the opportunities that have come my way.”

Anni marveled at his sincere humility.  “From where I see it, Benedict, you’ve earned those opportunities.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, Anni,” he interrupted modestly, “but perhaps you’re a little biased.”

“No, it’s the simple truth.  And frankly, I’ve never met anyone who deserves them more.”  She stopped at that, before she gushed too enthusiastically.

He was silent for a bit, and she hung on, hoping he hadn’t found her assertion cloying or naive.  When he finally spoke, his reply was soft, making her heart flutter happily with the memory of the same softness spoken during their intimacies.  “I’m sure I don’t deserve such flattery, Anni.  But you certainly have a way of making a man want to do whatever he can to meet your high regard.”

She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her, adding them to her growing list of treasured memories.  “You’ve set the bar very high.  I may never be able to settle for the ordinary again.”

As she expected, he scoffed in quiet amusement, “You give me far too much credit—but I’ll take it.”  He yawned again, and Anni knew the time had come to say goodnight.

“And now, Ben dear, I have to insist you get some rest.”  She teased him warmly, “Even the most spectacular of men need sleep if they want dazzle the public.”  Anni let her voice grow husky, “The way you’ve dazzled me.”

Benedict clucked his tongue, and she imagined a boyish, pleased smile gracing his face.  “My sweet, little Anni—how pretty you play me.”  He gently growled his appreciation, “You’re turning out to be irresistible even a continent apart.  It’s going to be a long week until you’re back in my arms.”

Anni closed her eyes again, sighing her happiest yet, “But haven’t we discovered that the best things are worth waiting for?”

He chortled in agreement before bidding her sweet dreams—the loveliest sound that she could hope for, to carry her comfortably down to sleep.

* * *

 

It turned out their conversation was one of very few that Benedict could manage while in Toronto.  His schedule grew more hecticeach day, with the movie premiering Wednesday afternoon, followed by his flight back to London within mere hours.  He made sure to text Anni several times a day though, wanting her to know she was never far from mind despite the grueling pace he had to set.  Each message was a source of quiet delight for her, and she happily responded in kind, while saving them to revisit for when she missed him most keenly.

Monday morning she woke to “ _The hotel offers an impressive breakfast menu—but I’d much rather the taste of midnight pancakes in your kitchen._ ”

She didn’t need to think long for her reply, texting back, “ _While_ _I’d prefer_ _the taste of your kisses over_ _food of any sort._ ”

He shared his thoughts on the silliest of questions he was asked by the score of interviewers that filled his days prior to Wednesday afternoon’s screening, often texting her as he shuttled from one place to another.  And there were parties and social engagements galore, so that Anni thought it must have been very like riding a never ending roundabout.  She enjoyed his humorous observations, and a time or two, the rather goofy selfies he would send her way.  Once, when she commented on how glitzy and sensational his surroundings must be—it was, in fact, a thinly veiled query about the allure of beautiful actresses in attendance at the festival—he saw right through her, to swiftly reassure her that they held little appeal for him.

“ _I’ve no interest in all that glamour,_ ” he told her in reply.  “ _I’d rather someone real & kind & down-to-earth…”_

 _“Someone not afraid to try new things…_ ” 

“ _A girl who can keep pace with me drink for drink..._ ”  Anni coloured at that text, knowing he was speaking of her.“ _A girl who isn’t afraid to laugh out loud & unabashedly.”_

Thrilled as that left her, Anni had to send the sass back that he would expect.  “ _That sounds a tall order, Ben.  Good luck with that._ ”

She grinned and waited for a witty comeback; he didn’t let her down, “ _I’ve been known to make my own luck.  As surely you remember?_ ”

“ _Yes.  And here I wait, hoping you’ll remind me again & soon._”  Good god, but she missed him!

She wished more than once that she could see Benedict as he navigated through the flurry of events, picturing his constant poise, imagining all his little habits that she already found so dear, knowing he’d be charming without effort, and hoping he was taking better care of himself than the constraints on his time might allow.  By the end of those days, Benedict would admit to being worn out, yet he still made sure to spend at least a little time in text conversation with her, even if it was only to wish her a sweet goodnight.

But Anni steadfastly refrained from initiating any exchange on her own, knowing how important his meetings, interviews and appearances were to the success of the film; in no way would she allow herself to distract him.

She broke the silence from her end only once.  Although she knew she could easily follow the film festival online—and catch glimpses of him at any number of websites—she shied away.  It wouldn’t have felt right, as though she was stalking him.  Despite the fact that each day she grew a little hungrier to see Benedict—more accurately, to see _her_ Benedict, the private man versus the celebrity—she refused temptation.  That was until late Tuesday afternoon, when she came across a conversation at one of her tables; two middle-aged women effusively discussing a movie trailer they had just seen.  As she set their second round upon the table, and removed their empties, she couldn’t ignore them as they gushed about their expectations for the film and the performance of its leading man.  Even after they’d left her section, the memory of their enthusiastic commentary remained, so that by shift’s end, Anni knew she couldn’t deny her curiosity any longer.

There were several versions of the trailer online, and Anni viewed them all, growing more astounded with each brief glimpse of Benedict’s performance.  The story itself would have been enough to move her (and mark it as a ‘must see’ when it was finally released), but witnessing those selected moments of his portrayal of Alan Turing touched her beyond anything she had expected, taking her breath away far differently than any of her interactions with Benedict had already done.  Anni found she couldn’t stay silent about her impressions.

“ _I hope you don’t mind,_ ” she wrote him that evening, cheeks still damp from tears shed while viewing a most heart-rending clip, “ _but I watched the online trailers for your film_ …”  She didn’t wait for his response, but continued while she had the courage to do so, “ _Oh Ben—it looks extraordinary.  I understand better now, why you’re so passionate_ _about it.  And I can’t think of a better way to champion the man who suffered such injustice…_ ”

Yet there was more she needed to tell him.  “ _It’s left me deeply_ , _profoundly, moved.  As has your portrayal…_ ”

And then, at last, “ _I hope you don’t find it presumptuous of me to say this, but if those scenes are any indication, I think it’s likely your finest work yet.  That I’ve seen, anyway._ ”  Anni tucked her phone away, knowing it might be some time until he replied, and simply glad to have shared her thoughts with him.

It was several hours until she heard back, leaving her touched that he had even found the time to text her amidst his rush of activities.  “ _Dearest Anni,_ ” he’d written, “ _you’ve taken me by surprise.  Although I guess I shouldn’t be…_ ”

“ _I remain humbled & very grateful for the privilege of bringing Turing’s story to the public’s attention…_”

“ _Thank you for recognizing its true value.  That_ is _the most important thing about this movie & we all hope the truth will move people, as you have been moved…_”

Already relieved that Benedict had reacted so kindly to her messages, she hadn’t anticipated his next.  “ _And personally, your opinion of my work means the world to me—for I know it comes from a deep place in your heart._ ”  Anni let the matter rest at that, choosing not to reply, for her heart felt too full to trust she wouldn’t muck things up by sending an entirely too emotional response.  She knew herself well enough to see that her heart already wanted far more than she believed could ever come from such an unlikely romance.

 

_(to be continued)_


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans don't go exactly as expected, but their reunion is a happy one when all is said and done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder- this is absolutely an AU, so please indulge my whimsy and enjoy the romance.

Bleary-eyed, Benedict pinched the spot between his brows where a small but persistent headache seemed ready to fully bloom.  He was more than tired; he was exhausted, and heading into the sunrise, with no real rest yet in sight.  He’d slept briefly once the plane had reached cruising height, but was jolted awake when they’d hit a patch of turbulence—which was just as well as he had intended to go over his marked up copy of _Richard III_ again, in preparation for the day’s read-through.  The headache was a sure sign he needed to put his script aside and get some sleep while he still had some “free” time.

Benedict flicked off the overhead lights, before reclining his seat back.  This was one of those times he was extremely grateful to be able to travel first class.  He heard the flight attendant pass by whisper quiet, moving down the length of the aisle to see to the comfort of her other passengers.  He breathed deep, letting himself relax, clearing his mind of the clutter of the successful whirlwind that was his stay in Toronto, relieved to be winging his way home.

Home. London.  The opportunity to move about the city in relative anonymity, after the intense spotlight that TIFF had trained upon him.  He was pleased with the reception that the film, and he and his fellow artists had received, and he was now more excited than ever for its November release.  There was plenty of promotional work yet to be done, but everything seemed right on track.

And he did know how to move about the city freely, under the radar of the paparazzi when necessary.  His first stop would be West London for the read-through.  After that, he would swing by his flat to freshen up, and then he’d make his way to Croydon centre, and finally to she who waited for him there--Anni.

She was the most delicious surprise that had come into his life in a very long time.  Much he had already discovered of her, and quickly too, yet he knew there was so much more of her to learn, so many firsts awaiting, and he wanted it all.  Despite the crunch for time his career created in his life, Benedict was determined to give this…this whatever it was that had grown between them, the chance to fulfill the promise of their earliest kisses.

He imagined Anni was fast asleep about now, letting himself picture the way the dark, silky fringe of her lashes lay closed upon those eyes that had captivated him so.  She was likely unaware of the power they held over him, and despite the times she tried so earnestly to hide her truest thoughts and feelings ( _she does that to protect herself_ , he had surmised early on; _disappointment in relationships most likely the cause, but it was_ _still too soon to ask_ )—despite how she tried, Benedict could read well her emotions in their compelling blue depths, and would be happy to fall into them again and again, and for as long as she would allow.

He’d start things off just right this time, with a proper date, and one where he kept his hands to himself for the duration.  Mostly, anyway—for he harbored no illusion that their mutual desire could be denied indefinitely.  He’d bring her some place posh, some place that she never would expect to find herself in, for the look of wonder it would birth upon her face and the gay sparkle it would kindle in her eyes.  Benedict envisioned Anni’s stunned silence as she took in her surroundings, and then the way she—having taken the measure of the place—would rise with charm, to the challenge presented, and fully indulge in the new experience.  And he fancied the way it would feel to hold her hand modestly in the midst of a crowd, a simple gesture that would bespeak his gentle claim upon her.  Their claim upon one another.

He thrummed a low note of satisfaction in his throat at that last thought, as his breathing slowed and he sank into much needed sleep.  A few minutes later, the flight attendant, passing him on her way back to the galley, marked her handsome passenger napping, and noted with a smile herself, the relaxed look of content that made his good looks nearly boyish, and undeniably appealing.

* * *

Benedict had done his best to load up on protein at the catered lunch provided at the read-through.  On top of the caffeine (which was starting to fail as the afternoon wore on), he had figured it was his best bet to maintain the energy he needed to be productive.  And he certainly didn’t want to appear at any less than his top form today, especially in the grand company that sat around _this_ table.  Dame Judi Dench, chief among them, luminary extraordinaire, along with the score of others whose work he had admired, or with whom he had worked in the past.  It was, in short, glorious to be involved in this project; he’d cut his teeth on Shakespeare, and it was absolutely necessary to dip back into the language, characters and brilliant drama of the Bard, to keep his skills fresh and lively.

Still, when they had finally wrapped things up for the day—and after catching up with several of his colleagues, and answering the inevitable questions about the upcoming release of _The Imitation Game_ , Benedict was very glad to slip into the cool, quiet comfort of the car Karon (from whom he'd parted ways when he set out for the read through) had arranged for him for the brief trip home to Hamstead Heath.

Once there, the driver offered to carry his bags in, but Benedict waved him off.  “No need to, thanks.  I’ve got this.”  After tipping the man generously, he grabbed his luggage from the boot, managing to stay on his feet long enough to drop his bags in the foyer, and then headed gratefully to the big comfy couch that awaited him.  _I’ll just close my eyes for 15 minutes,_ he promised himself, _a_ _quick little power nap, and then I’ll wash up_ _and call Anni_.  And that was his honest intention when he shut his eyes.  But his body had far different plans.

He woke in nearly the same position as he’d landed on the sofa, realizing from the twilight outside his windows that it had been hours after all, and not minutes.  He was hungry, rumpled, needed to use the loo—but most importantly he’d missed making that call to Anni.  He mentally kicked himself, for he knew she was bound to have been waiting, as he’d told her more than once he’d be in touch so they could get together this evening.  Benedict sat up, stretching out the crick in his neck from the awkward position he’d slept in, and checked his phone.  Nothing—no missed calls, and no texts awaiting him.  It left him a little disappointed and a bit guilty as well.  He rang her up immediately.

He needn’t have been concerned.  There was only amusement in her voice when she answered his call, although she teased him, “I iced the champagne, but it’s all melted now.  I don’t suppose you’re up for warm bubbly, are you?”

“Christ, Anni, I’m so sorry.  I passed out on the sofa the minute I got through the door.”

“Of course you did.  You’re not Superman, after all.”  Oh, but it was so good to hear her voice, her wry humor, and the quiet hints of her missing him, between the musical notes of her laughter.  “Something had to give, Ben dear, and I’m just glad it was me, and not something important to your career.”  She paused, and he hung on in wonder at her ease, “You must already know I’m more than happy to give you another chance.”

“Still,” he maintained, “I promised.  I can come by, if you want.  We could grab a bite to eat, or…”

Anni was swift to interrupt, “You’ll do no such thing. I expected you were headed for a healthy crash, even if you couldn’t admit it to yourself.”  She t’sked pointedly, “Honestly, Benedict, don’t _any_ of your people know how to look after you?”  That she cared deeply was evident in her tone.

“Well, I’m not always very good at listening to them,” he replied sheepishly, “Perhaps with you on my side, I can start to do better.”

She sighed and told him, “I don’t know about that, but for now I have to insist you get a very long, uninterrupted night’s rest.  Then we can discuss…”  Anni paused longer this time, searching for the perfect word, coming up short, “…those other things.”

‘ _Other things’_?  He had to wonder if that meant she was still uncertain as to his intentions; it made him want to set the record straight at once. “Look, Anni, let me come over for a little while.”  He let the longing he’d been feeling find its voice, “I’ve missed you terribly.”

The quick intake of breath over the line told him she hadn’t expected him to be so blatant.  And then she admitted to him the same—just as he was wishing.  It set his mind at ease.

“But we’ve plenty of time, Ben,” her tone had softened; he heard the vulnerable Anni of their most intimate moments, making him wish she was right beside him.  “Don’t you worry, I can wait.”

“Tomorrow, then,” he affirmed, “lunch and an afternoon out.  Does that work for you?”

Her voice took on the huskiness that he knew was born of her deepest feelings, “Bread and water would do, as long as it’s with you.”  He closed his eyes, picturing the sweet set of her mouth and the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled.  “But right now you need to catch up on your rest,” she continued, “Especially if we’re to make up for lost time…”

“Is that a promise, Anni?” he interjected, gambling she understood his subtext clearly.

Her laughter was light and sincere, “If that’s what it takes to get you under the covers and sleeping soundly?  Then absolutely.”

As so he wished her goodnight after all—still disappointed that too many city streets separated them for the time being.  As he advised her to be ready come noon tomorrow, and to dress for a special treat, Benedict realized he had moved well past infatuation, and was on his way to something deeper.  He hoped he was reading correctly, every signal she’d been sending, that meant she felt the very same.

* * *

He caught the main door to Anni’s building before it could swing shut behind a youngish couple that had just exited.  Benedict pushed his glasses (worn out of necessity, as his eyes were still tired from the strain of travel) back up, a habit he owned that was born of nerves.  He felt surprisingly anxious—as though he was a teenage boy instead of a grown man in the prime of his life.  Trying to put a definition to the mix of feelings churning inside him wasn’t doing anything to help him overcome those jitters. This was only a second date of sorts; only their second meeting after the GQ awards, in fact.  Yet so much had already passed between them, that he knew it was quite right that he already felt a strong emotional attachment to Anni.  He thought it very possible that their time apart had somehow intensified what he felt for her, but there would _no_ speaking that aloud.  If he did, she’d have him wrapped around her finger in a trice, or worse, he might jinx the prospect of something even richer developing between them.    

And so he vowed to take it slowly this day, to allow a better ‘getting to know you’ period, instead of giving into the strong desire (couched well, but ever present) to take Anni to bed.  Inhaling deeply to brace himself, he stood before her door—and was startled when it swung open before he’d even knocked.  As he breathed in the sight of her, Benedict felt his chest fill with a familiar sort of calm, of  _rightness_.  It took only moments for him to recognize and name it.  It was as much a coming home as yesterday, when he’d walked through the door of his own flat, setting his bags in the foyer, kicked off his shoes and let himself collapse exhausted on his sofa, relieved to put the road behind him for a while.  He knew it was much too soon for Anni to feel that way to him, but there was no arguing with the reality suffusing his body.  He already thought of her as his own; as comfort and shelter and the sweetest company he could want at the end of his day.

For her part, Anni smiled at him brilliantly, her stunningblue eyes wide with good humor and what he believed was surely happiness at his return.  She reached for him without hesitation, pulling him gently across the threshold, to hug him tightly.  And as he remembered, she was a perfect fit—as though his arms were meant to circle her exactly so, and her soft curves meant to fill the gaps he had grown in those long months of solitude before she had burst into his life.  Benedict rocked her lightly in his arms, enjoying how naturally she laid her cheek against the crook of his neck and adorned his skin with warm, soft kisses.  “Mmmmm,” she purred, “this is _exactly_ what I’ve been needing.”

“Me too,” he said with satisfaction, “and absolutely worth the wait.”

Anni moved back a little, to look him over, “And you shaved.”  She ran her fingers along his jawline, “Smooth.”  She fetched a satisfied sigh, looking coquettish, “Are you feeling better?”

Even if he wasn’t, he would have told her yes.  “Refreshed and ready for whatever the day brings.”  He couldn’t resist tracing his thumb along her lips, relishing the moment, before tilting her chin up so he could kiss her, slow and lingering.  Now they were together again, Benedict felt no rush to break from her embrace.  But he’d promised Anni lunch and an afternoon out, and so he prompted her along, “Shall we go?”

“Yes, I suppose,” she sighed, arching her brow suggestively, “Lead on, and I’ll follow you anywhere.”  Her tease was enough to make him reconsider their options, but before he could reply, she had backed out of his arms, “Will this do for where we’re going?”   

He nodded in appreciation, “Perfectly.”  She’d dressed as he had suggested, to fit with his plans for the afternoon, smart but relaxed, in colors that suited her wonderfully.  Blues and greys that accentuated the color of her eyes and hair, the diaphanous material of her short dress more appropriate for the heat of summer, so that she’d added his cardigan atop it for warmth, and leggings beneath to fend off the approaching autumn chill.  Set against her fair skin was a necklace of sterling silver, the chain so thin it made the rough cut lapis lazuli stones that dangled from it, appear to hang upon her flesh in defiance of gravity.  He thought it an eclectic choice, something that might be found at an artsy little shoppe or a second-hand store, and like her nature, unique and unexpected.

Anni had plaited her hair into a loose fishtail braid and secured it with a piece of dark rose rawhide.  It lay casually across her shoulder tempting him to touch it, inviting him to run its silken length through his fingers again and again while pondering how long it might be until she would unbind it for him, just for him, only for him.  Only days ago she had asked him about alluring actresses on the red carpet—as though any one of them could outshine the quiet, simple beauty that stood before him.  She bore the look of a woman at least halfway in love with him, if he judged correctly from how she’d embraced him, and from the pretty blush of color that bloomed beneath her collarbone and up her neck.  Benedict thought there must be nothing more appealing to a man than the sort of glow Anni wore for him right now.

The midday traffic nearly doubled the length of time the trip to Mayfair should have taken, but neither of them paid it mind.  It gave them the chance to discuss their tastes in music, as Anni flipped through his iPod playlist, commenting on things she liked, or asking about something unfamiliar to her.  Several times he asked her to play a particular song, interested to see her reaction; just another little opportunity to learn the details of the woman whose significance to him was growing, day by day.  They discovered their interests in music overlapped nearly as much as they differed.  Benedict was surprised to learn that Anni had a fondness for Broadway show tune standards, as well as a passion for anything Sondheim, and betrayed an adorable weakness for the ongoing epoch of animated Disney musical romances—all revealed when she commented on the stunning lack of any such, among his music selections.  He found their most common ground in appreciation of the music of the classical masters, and in the end they settled on Vivaldi’s Summer and Fall to usher them through the later part of the drive.

Benedict took a space in the parking lot of St. George’s Church, conveniently located across the street from their destination.  Excusing himself, he reached across her lap into the glove box to grab his cap, the last necessary element of disguise—coupled with the glasses--to hide him plainly in sight.  This outing would be a true first test of appearing in public with Anni at his side, for their earlier ventures had been in less frequented venues.  There were certain to be tourists--and the like--about these streets, and he hoped to spare her any glaring attention that might cause her to feel uncomfortable.  Having her take his arm as they crossed the road—as simple an act as it was—in so public a place, was a joy he’d been looking forward to for days.

“ _Wild Honey_?” she asked quietly.  He nodded, holding the door for her, looking forward to her reaction to the stylish interior and the French-inspired menu.  “That’s the _best_ sort of sweet, don’t you think?” he commented, sotto voce, as they headed towards the maitre’d, “A little untamed, but full of so much that satisfies by its very nature.”  He leaned in to whisper close, “The name alone makes me think of you.”

Anni gasped softly in surprise at his compliment, lowering her lashes in a sidelong glance while biting her lip—the total effect so spontaneous and pretty that he wished he could kiss her thoroughly in front of every stranger there.  He settled—for the while, at least--for a smile he hoped conveyed the sincerity of his feelings.

“Ah, welcome back, Mr. Cumberbatch!”  The maitre’d was a friendly, eager fellow, who came forward quickly to see them to their table.  “Window seating, of course,” he said proudly, “do follow me.”

They followed him through the restaurant, Anni staying close as she gazed around.  Benedict tucked his cap into his jacket pocket before placing a hand softly against her back, to guide her yes, but mostly because he couldn’t resist the urge to touch her.  The maitre’d was speaking excitedly about the day’s specials, leaving their menus on the table as Benedict seated Anni, pushed in her chair, and then moved to sit himself.  Their host bobbed a small bow, assured them he remained at their service, and left them to their privacy.

Anni looked up from the menu, her eyes drawn to the dramatic picture outside the window.  “It’s really a lovely view, isn’t it?” she exclaimed, taking in the grandeur of the church’s Corinthian columns, and the tower rising from behind the portico.

“The loveliest of all,” he answered, mesmerized by the play of light on her profile.

She turned back to him, wide-eyed as she realized his eyes were only on her.  T’sking softly, Anni pursed her lips against the smile of delight that wanted to break forth, glanced down at her menu pointedly for several seconds, then dared to meet his eyes again.  “Stop that,” she insisted.

Benedict bit his lip to keep from smiling too widely.  “Stop what?” he asked, feigning innocence.

A little nonplussed, she leaned across the table, “Well, frankly,” she dropped her voice to just above a whisper, “…like you’ve seen me in my knickers!”

He leaned in as well, his response confidential, “I _have_ seen you in your knickers.”  He sat back, enjoying the chance to tease her, “And _that_ is quite the lovely sight as well.

Anni raised her chin, her tone turning coy as she accepted it was useless to resist his ploy, “But what will people think?”

He took a beat before answering, then slid his hand to covers hers, “That I’m a very.  Lucky.  Man.”

She batted her lashes at him, drawing herself straight with the pleasure his flattery had wrought, and then looked down and studied her menu intently.

* * *

The meal and their conversation had passed more quickly than he’d expected, though it was likely because he was enjoying himself so much.  There were a few choices on the menu Benedict had urged Anni to try, and he was pleased she was so willing.  Slow cooked hare, with hand rolled macaroni; potato and parmesan gnocchi; Welsh lamb with sheep ricotta; she seemed game for his every suggestion.  They finished a carafe of wine before moving onto dessert, sampling from one another’s plates like a couple that had been together for some time.  Anni liked best the dessert which lent its name to the restaurant--wild honey ice cream, served with honeycomb—although she did not stint from taking a healthy taste of his champagne rhubarb with merengue and crushed pralines.

From there, Benedict suggested visiting one of the local art galleries, but the afternoon sun was too bright and inviting to be abandoned.  “It’s bound to be one of the last truly warm and sunny days before fall rain takes over,” she  told him, “It would be a shame to waste the opportunity, don’t you think?”.  She slid her arm through his, leaning against him innocently enough, and he found he could refuse nothing she suggested.  They window shopped instead, the posh boutiques and ritzy shoppes of Bond Street as entertaining as the people scurrying in and out of them.

After a while, he caught her hand in his, just as he’d pictured during his return flight to London.  Occasionally, curiosity prompted Anni to duck into one of the stores, pulling him along to watch her marvel at a world well out of her sphere.  More than once though, Benedict noticed Anni watching _him_ , wistful like--but no more than the times he let his eyes linger upon her, silently willing her to catch him out.  When she did, she’d kiss his cheek, or make a little jest, moving softly through the afternoon, unconsciously making him want the things he’d vowed to wait upon.  It was an exquisite sort of torment, but he knew it wasn’t boundless, and the time would come soon when Anni would turn to him with lengthened kisses and he’d hold her close and she’d not be so apt to move away.  Benedict had waited several days already, and these last hours of anticipation were easy to endure by comparison.     

Eventually, as they stood before a window displaying high-end accessories for the fashion savvy, Anni squeezed his hand tightly.  “This is hopeless,” she muttered, turning to face him. “I’ve been looking in these windows for the last half-hour, at least,” she told him, earnest and heartfelt, “…and as elegant as these handbags and shoes and beautiful clothes are, all I can really see is _you_ …at _my_ side.”  She looked down at the pavement, gathering her thoughts before continuing, “And I’m wondering how much longer I can keep from draping myself all over you.”  She spared a laugh at her own expense, “Thus making a complete spectacle of myself  and embarrassing the hell out of both of us.”  Anni pressed against his arm, adding in a quieter tone, “Help me out here, Ben.  You’ve got me well out of my depth, and my will power is fading fast.”

Relieved that she had spoken up, Benedict chuckled as he replied, “Do you think it’s been any _easier_ for me?”  He took both of her hands in his.  “You--looking so luscious, and being your plain, sweet self.  I swore I’d behave this time, but I’m only human and you are severely testing my limits.”  He could see how pleased his admission made her, the stubborn little pout she wore melting into a lovely smile.  “So really, Anni, tell me please—what _are_ we to do about this situation?”

Anni bit her lip and mischief colored her countenance.  She looked around them quickly, dismissing passersby as any sort of obstacle to give her honest answer.  He watched as her reflection in the boutique window shadowed her movements--stretching her neck while tugging him closer to kiss his cheek, and then the corner of his mouth.  She nuzzled her nose and mouth against him, inhaling deeply.  “Mmmmm. I loved the scruff, but _this_ is even better.”  He shivered against the warmth such contact with her generated, and when she spoke again, Benedict knew that their afternoon out was over.  “Take me home, please,” she murmured against his skin, “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

He could see the both of them, still reflected in the glass.  They made a handsome couple, and a hungry one too.  He brushed his lips upon her forehead, telling her, “My place is much closer.  If that’s alright with you.”  He pulled back a little, to gage her response.

The flush of her cheeks, and the way her breath was coming in quick little gasps, was more than enough of an answer.  Her voice was low, to be discreet, and she tightened her hold on his hands, “Yes.  Absolutely. Yes.”

For a moment, Benedict wondered if everyone around them could see how besotted he was, unable to control how his face telegraphed what he was feeling.  He was a master of his craft, skilled in bringing the wide range of human sentiment to true life when given a character to play—but all his cleverness was useless to conceal his own raw emotions, as he considered how very good it was going to be.  Even better than their first night, he was certain--from a week of built-up longing and delayed fruition.   He wondered if Anni read it on his face as well, and if she was as weak with wanting him as he was for her. 

And then he realized she surely was, for she trembled against the hand he slid around her waist, to pull her as close as he comfortably could, guiding her back to his car.  The walk seemed interminably long.

Benedict saw Anni gently into her seat and moved quickly around the car, to take his place behind the wheel.  “Won’t be long from here,” his voice thick with feeling as he pulled into traffic.  Anni covered his hand where it rested on the gearshift, the heat of her skin equal to his, and told him calmly, “We’ve all day left.  _And_ all the night.”  She squeezed his hand softly for emphasis, “A bit more patience, Ben.” She spaced her breath carefully, as though trying to control herself, “And then it all unfolds.”

He stole a quick glance her way, very conscious of the need to keep his eyes upon the road.  Anni wore that small, patient smile again, the one that stirred a tenderness in him to rival his baser lusts.  He nodded and answered her look with a small smile of his own, and then turned back to the task at hand, concentrating hard on not exceeding the speed limit too terribly.

* * *

Anni had been quiet on the drive to his flat, but Benedict was sure her thoughts were as bent upon their destination—and all that would follow once they got there—as he was.  When they’d pulled into the garage, the door trundling closed behind them, he cut the engine and turned to her.  “Here we are,” he told her, finally giving in to the impulse from earlier to run her braid through his fingers.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, finishing his thought, “At last.”  The tilt of her face offered him her parted lips, so that he closed the distance between them with a gentle tug on her braid. 

They kissed timelessly, patient and slow, enjoying the first taste of the hours that lay before them.  Neither was willing to move from their seats, satisfied for the moment with the most innocent of foreplay, until Anni grazed his earlobe with her teeth, making him gasp and ready for far more.  Her quiet laugh had a wicked edge to it, and she asked in response, “Is this what you want—snogging in your car like a couple of teenagers?”

“That’s exactly how you make me feel,” he replied, “half my age, and hormones raging beyond control.”

“‘Raging hormones’,” she repeated, with a hungry growl from the deep of her throat, “I do like the sound of that.”

“Oh Anni…” he breathed hard as she moved her mouth across the skin of his cheek, “The things I imagined of you while I was away…”

“Mmmmm…yes?”  She stopped short of his mouth, a maddening tease. “Naughty things?”

“The naughtiest,” he laid his lips against hers for only a moment, teasing her back, “Should I tell you these things?”

“Ohhhh, yes _please_ …” she begged, “… I want every detail…”  Anni wet her lips in anticipation, “…or, mmmmm…better still, maybe you can show me?”

“It may take a while…” Benedict warned her, their mouths remaining a hairsbreadth apart.

“Then it’s best we make a beginning now, don’t you think?”  Anni didn’t allow for an answer, sucking hard on his lower lip instead, driving any further need for conversation from his mind.

They finally broke apart, each thirsty for air, leaving his voice a little rough.  “Let’s go inside, Anni.”  She nodded, and he got out of the car; she waited patiently for him to open her door, taking his proffered hand as she alighted.  They passed in silence up the short set of stairs, through the door and into his kitchen.   

As they walked across the room, Benedict lagged slightly behind while watching her, the heat of his desire endowing Anni with a grace that made her even more irresistible.  She moved slowly, pausing beside the fridge—smiling when she saw he’d left her bold note hanging there—then trailing her fingers along the countertop.  She seemed focused on the details of the room, not speaking, only moving forward.  When she slid his cardigan off and draped it on a kitchen stool, he wondered if she meant it as a tease, then realized he didn’t care, thinking he wouldn’t be able to deny his need for her much longer.

Reaching the doorway, Anni turned his way at last.  There was no guile in her expression, only an honest invitation for him to follow on.  He moved swiftly to stand before her, his voice low in the quiet around them, “Anni.”  He loved the way she looked whenever he said her name.  “Is there anything you…you need…before we…”  Words fell short of what he hoped to say.

Anni was shaking her head, then brushing her fingertips through the hair above his brow.  “I need what you need, Ben.”  Though her kiss was chaste this time, it tingled on his lips, making him pull her close.  She breathed out slowly, trying for patience just a bit longer, “But I think you’ve known that all along.”

They didn’t even make it up the stairs.  Caught up in one another, Benedict tried to ask where she wanted to go.  When Anni answered breathlessly, “Any room… _every_ room...” he took her at her word, pulling her without resistance to the living room sofa, finally finishing there, what they’d begun and then delayed, that drink inspired night on which they’d met.

 

_(to be deliciously continued)_

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. I can only hope I did this right...

 

 _Fading in, fading out_  
_On the edge of paradise_  
_Every inch of your skin is a holy grail I've got to find_  
_Only you can set my heart on fire, on fire_  
_Yeah, I'll let you set the pace_  
_'Cause I'm not thinking straight_  
_My head spinning around I can't see clear no more_  
_What are you waiting for?_

_(“Love Me Like You Do”—Martin, Kotecha & Salmanzadeh)_

 

Anni had tried her best to keep her emotions in check, in the hours before his arrival.  Instinct told her that she was safe in trusting Benedict’s repeated demonstrations of sincerity, consistent from the start—but she had been burned before, painfully burned, and second-guessing her own judgment in matters of the heart had become a nearly natural defense.  This contradiction left her walking a razor’s edge between wanting to give in to all the softness she felt for him--deepening every day--and needing to convince herself that their affair, and the heat between them, was but a torch’s flame that would burn itself out in time and she best be prepared for that.

She knew as well,that nearly every heart had its own sad story to tell; that her experiences were not so unique, or of such tragic proportion, that finding something good—at last—was impossible.  She just couldn’t allow herself the fantasy that _this_ remarkable man was the healing her heart had been waiting for.  It was far too improbable. 

So when she’d swung wide her door, foolishly impatient just too see him again, Anni realized she was in trouble now, no doubt about it.  The whole time Benedict had been away, she’d constantly reminded herself not to let her expectations get out of hand.  Even as she delighted in the scattered texts he’d sent her mornings, middays, evenings, and those times she knew he’d settled in for the night (picturing him in a hotel bed, alone in the dark and actually thinking of her), she’d told herself to read nothing more into them than continued flirtation with the ultimate end being a marathon of guiltless shagging, once he would finally have the time to come around her way again.  Anni had cautioned herself dozens of times, it surely wouldn’t last and to just calm down and enjoy what time she did get to spend in his company.  Gather those roses while she may, and don’t think any further than breakfast if he should choose to spend the night again.  All sage advice, but it hadn’t worked after all.  One sight of him on the other side of her door—this time casually dressed but clean-shaven, wearing those hipster glasses which for some reason made him even more attractive _,_ and smiling broadly and honestly—had driven home the fact that she was already in too deep.

Still, Anni had striven to keep things light between them, and so they passed the afternoon blithely—until they reached that point when words and fleeting touches were no longer enough, and _she_ was the one to ask for more, despite her best intentions.

Now she lay in his bed again, at last--a divine resolution to that first, nearly innocent time--reminding her how very far they had come, and in perhaps too short a time.  Would Benedict want her still, once they did all the things she’d been dreaming of doing with and to him?  Why were her feelings for him so intense?  Anni had no experience to compare this to, nothing so swift and all consuming.  She was navigating deep waters with no compass; only the twin stars of his eyes to guide her, but would they lead her to another heartbreak?

Lying sweetly beneath him now, his skin against hers the antidote to every lonely hour she’d spent in the past year, the insistence of his touch making her feel beautiful once more, Anni knew her heart was too entangled for hurt _not_ to be inevitable.  She buried her face against his shoulder for a time, determined he not see how deep such forbidden feelings ran, only laying her head back to look up at him when she thought she’d regained control of her emotions.

Benedict took her hands and laid them beside her head upon the pillow, holding her wrists lightly, taking time to simply look at her, drawing out the anticipation for both of them until he made his way inside of her again.  Anni was panting softly, her gaze unbroken, until he began to press two strong fingers against the palm of her left hand, massaging small, firm circles on her flesh, eventually entwining his fingers through hers.  Her eyes squeezed shut with the feel of it, and she began to moan, for it felt a precursor to that most intimate pressure that would soon follow.  It made her lose what control she’d been clinging to.

“Please.  Just lie to me,” she murmured, fearing she was begging, but unable to stop herself, “Tell me that this isn’t _just_ the physical between us.”

Amazed at her words, entranced by her responses to him, he kissed her his softest, feeling the strength of the emotions she’d tried so unsuccessfully to conceal.  He waited until she opened her eyes, “There’s no lie here, Anni.”  His voice was a little raw in the face of her naked vulnerability.  “There’s a sweetness in you I crave.  A sweetness I want to make all mine.” 

Anni barely breathed as she stared up into his eyes--so patient, so sincere, so easy to get lost in--the invisible clash between her heart and her head playing out silently.  And as ever in her life, it was her heart that claimed the day.  “It’s been yours from the first,” she admitted, shunting aside the safety of hesitation, “god help me, Ben.”  Surer of herself, and that she could no longer hide it from him or from herself, she repeated, “The _best_ of who I am has been yours, from the very start.”

And as quietly as that, she knew herself to be free of the fears that sought to cripple her, accepting that if there should be pain and disappointment and loss sometime down the road, they were the smallest cost possible for the rapture of being his for this span of time.  Anni had never wanted to give herself over more completely to anyone, to surrender herself without reserve to a man’s desires.  So freed, she held nothing back, loving him with abandon, hungry for his pleasure, which in turn fed her own.

The hunger of her mouth, seeking her fill of his every flavor and texture, memorizing the firm arcs of his musculature, and the planes and hollows of his torso, so she might return again and again to those spots which pleased him best.  Hungry hands nested in his hair, loving its wavy, auburn thickness, her fingertips massaging and drawing from him rumbles of pleasure; her hands anchored in his hair and guiding him along every inch of her skin, to be savored by his wonderful, wandering lips.  Her supple curves pressed against him hungrily as well, relentlessly leading him to sink into her completely.   

Benedict took all that Anni was offering, unaware—perhaps--that he had broken down her last defense, responding zealously to the tidal force of her passion.  They followed the course dictated by Nature and Desire wholeheartedly; and neither of them held anything back.  Their earlier play—in the living room and on the stairway—had satiated greatly, but this was beyond anything Anni had ever experienced.  She wanted to believe it was the same for him as well.

Precious flesh on precious flesh, their desire mounting, they finally began to move together in that rhythm that foreshadowed the rich climax that awaited them.  His body shuddered in surprise and unexpected pleasure when Anni raked her short fingernails from his shoulders, slowly down his back, marking his skin as hers--to grip his flanks greedily, panting hotly against his neck and whispering what she wanted him to do to her.  As she began to rotate her hips against him, she slipped one hand between them, tracing her thumb on the tip of his stiffened cock, spreading the first droplets of his emissions in a widening circle around the head and the hardened ridge of his erection.  She taunted him deliciously, caressing along his engorged length with only her palm; caught as he was in her grasp, and pulsing against her pelvis, she wondered if he could endure much more of this foreplay.  “Ohhhh…mmmmmm,” he growled, “…holy fffuck, Anni…”    

She echoed his satisfied sounds, thrilled to read his pleasure in the way he shifted against her and in the stark longing of his voice, “Yessss,” she felt she could barely breathe, “That’s exactly what we want, isn’t it?” 

“Oh god,” he groaned low and long, his best answer to finally slide his hand down to her moist slit, parting her lips there and fingering her eagerly.  Whimpering her delight, Anni drew her legs further apart, pulling her knees back above his waist, bucking her hips in her need to fully open herself to him and allow his long, talented fingers complete access.  Benedict traced her secret, sensitive flesh masterfully, top to bottom and back again, drawing her richest moans yet, and coating his fingers with her sweet lubrication.

Anni slowly ground against his fingers as he explored the folds of her aroused sex, focused fully on how he was loving her; on the feel of his tongue swirling and raising the peaks of her nipples, his free hand firmly cupping each breast in turn; on the slight rough of the stubble on his cheeks and chin wherever it rubbed upon her smooth skin; and most acutely, on his hard, heavy shaft, pressed against her and leaking moisture upon her flesh.  When he renewed his attention to the swollen bud of her clitoris, working it lovingly with the pad of his thumb, she began to writhe, immediately tightening her grasp on his erection, while teasing the sensitive tip of his cock with delicate, fleeting touches   His reaction was electric, thrusting hard against her and sucking even harder on the tender flesh of her neck.  His voice was gruff and greedy, “Stroke me, Anni…please…”   No sooner had he asked, but she clasped him tighter.  He gasped, swallowing hard, “…my god, yes…yessss… _just_ like that…” Gratified, but still imploring her, “…and even harder…I need this…I need…”  He cried out, full-voiced and rough, “… I need _you_ …”

“Mmmm…anything you want, Ben,” she moaned, enjoying his pleasure as much as her own, clenching him tightly and loving how hard he was, encircling the base of his cock with one hand, and moving the other to fondle him fully. “I want to please you…ahhhhh…let me please you…”

He groaned against her neck, breathing heavy, “Yes, Anni, you do.  In every way I want you to…”

She arched her back, consumed with desire to satisfy them both, squirming beneath him and wrapping her legs around him, increasing the contact between her vulva and his testes.  His body tensed and he cried out his pleasure, and swiftly skimmed his free hand down along her side, to cup her bottom and spread her wider still.  His fingertips lingered at her opening.  “Ahhh,” he exclaimed, “…ahhh, Anni…you’re so fucking wet…”       

“I know…I know I am…oh Ben, I am,” she panted, “…for you…oh so for you…oooohhhh…”; the last sound was drawn out wordlessly, as he slipped two fingers into her vagina, slowly corkscrewing them in and out, deeper each time, driving her nearly mad with wanting all of him, so that she bit down hard on his shoulder before she realized she’d lost that bit of control.  Benedict inhaled sharply at the sting of it, and she instantly apologized and covered his skin there with sloppy kisses, while he whispered “…s’ok…s’ok, sweet…sweet Anni…I can take that…take that and so much more…”

“Take _me_ ,” her voice broke with her plea, “Take me, fill me…”  Overcome she was, every nerve alive and aching to have his hardness fully inside of her.  His fingers were driving her out of her mind, firm and insistent against and inside her.  “Please,” she beseeched him, “…don’t make me wait any longer...”

“As you wish,” he answered, voice at his deepest, and tight-lipped in anticipation of the greater pleasure to come, “my beautiful girl…my sweet Anni.”  She laughed softly, without meaning to, joyful to be his, in body _and_ in mind.  Benedict slid both hands to her hips, gripping them hard as he positioned himself to plunge into her.  He entered her with a merciless thrust, pulling back almost fully and pausing before driving into her again, grunting his satisfaction each time he repeated the motion, pinning her beneath him with such force and passion that she finally blurted out, “Oh yessssss…fff…ahhhh…fuck me, Ben…” Groaning deeply and demanding of him, “…fuck me right into tomorrow…”

Such words from her sweet tongue set a frenzy in his flesh, making him a little reckless, unable to restrain himself as he crushed her into the mattress.  His fingers sunk into her flesh where he held her, seeking their dearest purchase as he pounded into her, slowly but relentlessly.  Later in the night, she would ride him just as hard, giving back in kind the ecstasy his passion gave her; but for this time, she let his will consume her, meeting each deep thrust with a throaty moan and begging him to make her come. 

She felt the herself coalesce around him, certain she could feel him throb inside her, wanting to feel him spill his heat at the very moment her own orgasm should commence.  It was so close now, and she wanted it more than air to breath.  

He choose that moment to withdraw, the ultimate tease, making Anni wail her frustration and thrust her pelvis high, needing to pull him back inside her.  He was far from spent, hard and slick with her juices, hovering just inches away.  Benedict held still, the wickedest of smiles upon the mouth she adored with all her soul; held still, controlling his breathing as he sought to control their pace.  Anni looked up at him imploringly, “I’m so close now, please…please don’t stop…”  She felt on the verge of beautiful madness. 

Benedict’s eyes were half-lidded as he held himself above her, “I want to make this so good for you, baby.”  He licked his lips, and she ached to suck on them, top and then bottom, even as she ached for him to cram her full again. “I want to make this your best ever.”

Anni felt like her heart was in a swoon.  “You already have, Ben.”  She slid her hand onto the back of his neck, her fingertips combing through his hairline.  “Nothing exists for me now but this…and you…and us.”  She was dizzy and happy and so hungry for all he was promising, and she couldn’t stop the tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes, onto his pillow, if she had wanted to.

He lowered his face to hers, still holding back a little more, kissing all her skin, saving her lips for last.  She was certain that every molecule of her being was alive just for him; she felt ready to drown should he require it of her.  He whispered his intent against her ear, “Follow my lead, sweet Anni.  Trust me.” 

She rolled her head to the side, loving the way he made her yield, exposed and vulnerable to his desires, “As _you_ wish, my beautiful Benedict.  _Whatever_ it is you wish.”

When he slid into her at last, Anni keened loudly, catching hard breaths on the downbeat of his thrusts, breathing back out when he lightened the pressure.  The pleasure came in waves, but unlike those that beat the shore without deviation, Benedict controlled them, reading her and riding her.  Each time it felt as though she’d reached the tipping point, he would pause, denying pushing her past it by stilling himself again.  It was the most intimate, lush, satisfying torture she’d ever known, making her wonder how much more she could take, and wonder how much longer he could hold off final consummation.

And he _was_ nearing the end of his endurance; she knew this from the staccato of his groans, from the way his mouth latched onto her flesh, from the strain in the muscles of his thighs and buttocks.  Anni found her voice, husky but rich with feeling, “Come in me, darling…I need to feel it…I love when you come in me…”  But she bit her tongue at declaring her strongest feeling:  that she loved _him_ , beyond reason and fear of rejection.  He had _made_ her love him, she knew in her soul, despite how frightened she had been of letting anyone into her heart again. 

Lost in the intensity of the physical act, awash in feelings she had been denying, Anni felt herself going at last; no more ebbing from the peaks he’d brought her to repeatedly, this pleasure was final and glorious.  As she climaxed fully, crying out “Now…oh now, Ben…now!” her body arched and rigid in the final throes, her joyful truth was this:  that each time he pierced her was sweeter than the last; and all that he was, had become the most potent drug she could imagine craving.  She could not say these things aloud, not yet; but he would know it well enough in time, from the depths of her most secret places, every move sourced from her loving heart.   

Benedict gave over his remarkable control of over his body—and hers—thrusting convulsively repeatedly and spilling his hot seed into her.  His body quaked in the aftermath, with her arms wrapped tight around him, and her cooing against his ear.  Anni thought she’d be happy to hold him this way forever, with his head snug against her neck, listening to his breathing steady and slow, his entire body at peace from what they’d shared, and knowing that at least part of his heart belonged to her.

The murmured quietly to one another, incomplete sentences, gentle, heartfelt words, little reassurances of devotion.  Anni squeezed her eyes shut when he withdrew from her at last, knowing it had to be, but aching now from the absence.  He left his face linger over hers, his smile utterly content, before bussing her lips softly and whispering “my sweet Anni” one more time. 

Finally, he slid from atop her, to lay facing her, never breaking contact fully, being sure to leave a hand upon her as he aligned himself along her side.  His hand came to rest along the line of her jaw, one finger tracing the outline of her ear, as he watched her come down from the euphoria they had shared.  The light through the window was well past evening, but the streetlamps outside, and the light from the hall outside his bedroom, still provided enough for them to see one other. His voice was slightly hoarse, but as beautiful to her ears as it had ever been, “Anni, that was…” biting his lip as he trailed off, the perfect word eluding him.

Anni was smiling softly, still a bit breathless, “I know…” She turned her head his way, “You were,” she hummed in satisfaction, finding her perfect word for him, “…magnificent.” She didn’t add that he thoroughly owned her heart, fairly sure it was clear on her face already. 

Benedict took the compliment with the crooked smile that was his sweetest, making her weak for him all over again, making her eyes prickle with silly tears.  He stroked her cheek, thinking a moment before replying, “Anni, baby…you were…you _are_ …heaven…pure heaven, but…”

He looked questioning as he paused and she smiled, already knowing what he was thinking, while wanting to hear him say it, “But what?”

His eyes were wide with curiosity, his brow a little furrowed with wonder, “But…something changed there.”  His gaze was unwavering, “Don’t think I’m complaining for even a moment, but……what happened?”

Anni licked her lips, looking a little like a cat having just drunk all the bowl of the sweetest cream ever, “I’m just…” her lips quivered, as she fended off those silly tears, “I’m not afraid anymore.  I’m me…I’m completely me…and I’m more than good enough, aren’t I?”

In his amazement, Benedict drew her to him, kissing her brow, holding her as closely as could be.  “Anni, my darling…my sweet, little angel…you’re _everything_.”

She really wanted to stay awake a while more, sharing soft pillow talk and promises of future lovings, but the hormones that had flooded her system were just too rich to be denied.  Anni snuggled against him, her body fit so warmly into his, and drifted off to sleep, while he quietly nuzzled the soft haven of her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter outline originally called for more, but then it would have been entirely too long. I'm on a learning curve here, having never delved so deeply into this sort of writing. So...um...fair warning that the next chapter is going to be more......Romantic Smut. In case you like that sort of thing.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romantic musings & a bit more NSFW. Hope it's worth the wait since the last chapter!

Benedict was the first to freely admit that his life had been a charmed one, in very many ways.  Parents who adored him, and worked hard to provide for him the finest of educations.  A relatively early recognition of what he wanted to do in life, allowing him a focus in pursuit of his career that eluded less lucky contemporaries.  Natural ability, which he’d been able to nurture and hone, and that synced exactly with his aspirations.  The chance for travel, with all the wonderful experiences of cultures outside his own--deepening his knowledge of human nature and ever filling the creative well from which he drew.     

And so he had counted himself blessed for some time now; for all the projects that had come his way with nearly perfect timing, setting his career on a trajectory he never could have predicted.  Benedict had been careful as he considered each opportunity presented, careful in the choosing, building a solid body of work, while at the same time fulfilling the urge deep in his soul to create truthfully, and illuminate for audiences the beauties and complexities of the human spirit.

The only thing he had seemed to lack, in recent years, was someone to share the journey with.  As he aged through his thirties, seeing the end of his most long-term romantic relationship, then trying on others for fits that eventually fell short, he had felt an impatience growing for that “rest of his life” to begin.  In some ways, he had stopped looking, hoping that the astounding currents that carried him with ease through so much of his life, might at last carry to his side the partner he longed to face his future with.

Not to say that Anni _was_ this one.  It was far too early to even host such thoughts.  But he couldn’t deny the sudden, blissful turn his life had taken in the short time since they had met.  Couldn’t ignore how she found her way into his thoughts more and more each day, despite the fact there were dozens of previous commitments that required his immediate focus.  Benedict could see himself already falling—hard and headlong, with no regrets, and certainly with no inclination to apply the brakes—but recognized that the timing probably couldn’t be more impractical.

And not so much for himself; he was accustomed to the furious pace, the intense media scrutiny, the outrageous hours and crazy travel.  The past couple of autumns had been the busiest of his life, promoting films in cities across Europe and the US, numerous red carpet appearances for his movie premieres, and the full cycle of award season—and this fall and winter would dwarf them all.  For all of that, Benedict was well prepared.  Would it be wise, or even fair, to pull Anni into the thick of it? Might these tremendous complications keep their blossoming relationship from unfolding fully and naturally?  How was he to manage their affair as she _deserved_ , when in so much of the coming months he was going to be so far away from her?

In fact, how could he leave her repeatedly, when he couldn’t even stand the thought of traveling to Hertfordshire for several days, for the beginning of principle photography for _Richard III_?  The astonishing communion of their lovemaking had robbed him of the will to even leave his flat, let alone her side.  In the quiet darkness, as he lay waiting for Anni to return to bed, his mind recounted the many remarkable details that had moved him from just wanting her, to _needing_ her as surely as he needed food and drink and air. 

In his mind’s eye—ever the vivid illustrator--he saw her above him, eyes closed and mouth open, giving herself over elementally, moving atop him, sheathing him tightly, grinding slowly and holding him deep inside her.  Heat spread through his groin—rousing him again—as he pictured the arch of her body as she came, head thrown back and exclaiming his name like a fervent, beautiful prayer.  Anni’s orgasm had been so intense, triggering him to empty himself into her with abandon, that she had bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.  Blood that wouldn’t be noticed until later, when he tasted it while kissing her softly in the aftermath.  All that they had done together—and all that lay before them—far transcended any previous physical pleasures he had known.

Yet the fire she had set in his flesh was surpassed by the marvel that he felt that she was hazarding her heart for him, despite whatever pain in her past had taught her to proceed with a skeptic’s caution.  Benedict was keen to ask the many lover’s questions that would let him puzzle out her quiet mysteries, but held his tongue still--knowing the answers would come in time, satisfied for now with whatever secrets Anni was willing to share.  And he would remain open to revealing whatever she might ask of him, a proffer of his sincerity, in hope of easing any doubts that might still give her pause.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Anni came to stand in the doorway of the bathroom, gloriously naked and unselfconscious about it.  It occurred to him that this was the most natural thing in the world; that this breathtaking woman-- _his_ Anni—stood in his private sanctum without a care or concern, as though she truly belonged there.  Her rich, dark hair a tumble, the light behind her a lovely nimbus about her form, he coveted the innate beauty she projected.  His eyes roved the wonder of her, from her slender neck to the full curve of her breasts, to the gentle indentation of her waist and the tempting hollow of her navel, following inevitably to the soft, dark thatch of hair covering her sex—all of her making his mouth water with wanting her again.

Anni’s face, as she drew nearer, showed an undeniable blend of waywardness and desire.  She paused beside the bed, sipping from a tumbler full of water, and then offering it to him.  Benedict took it from her, drinking deeply, quenching one thirst while reckoning his even greater one.  When she took the glass back, swallowing a bit more before setting it upon the nightstand, he reached for her, to pull her onto the bed beside him.  “You were gone too long,” he told her, sliding his hands to cradle her face close, lightly tracing the soft skin of her neck with his fingertips.

“Mmmmm,” she purred, moving her head slightly to brush her lips against his palm, “there must be some way I can make it up to you.”  Anni smoothed her mouth along his thumb, opening it just enough to tickle the tip with her tongue, then teasing it between her lips and sucking slowly. 

“That’s a good start,” he rumbled, closing his eyes and sinking into the sensations that traveled up his arm, relaxing him languorously while whetting his desire for more of her sweet mouth.  Her tongue was insistent against his thumb, applying the delicious pressure that was the promise of other delights to come, until she slid it from her mouth with a small pop that turned into a lingering kiss.  Benedict shivered, eyes now grown wide, nerves fully awake, moistening his lips and finally bringing her lips to his.

Breaking from his kiss, she left a little space between them as she spoke.  “I fantasized about you, a time or two, while you were away.”  Her voice was thick with longing, sending waves of desire coursing through him.  “Of pleasing you, Ben.”  She nipped his lower lip gently, “Of hours and hours of pleasing you.”  She pulled back to see his face in full.

Her manner and her declaration had him feeling punch drunk, barely able to whisper her name in response.  Yet even amidst the lust in her voice, he saw that she still wore the quiet sweetness that had his heart fully ensnared.  He gave the barest of nods, ready to follow her bidding.  

Her kisses were bold, assertive, making him sink his head back against the pillow as she worked her will upon him.  “I’m going to kiss every inch of you, Benedict,” she told him, tugging his lower lip between her teeth, dancing the tip of her tongue along its length so that he moaned.  “ _Every_ inch, Ben.”  Anni first made her way slowly along his jaw and then his neck, taking her time and promising him, “I won’t be stopping until I’ve tasted every part of you.”  He relinquished all control to the demands of her mouth, breathing hard as she moved on top of him.  She left the sheet between them, rubbing herself against him maddeningly, schooling him to be patient as she planted love bites along his collarbone.  Even through the fabric, he felt the tantalizing heat of her skin and the full press of her breasts.  He stifled to urge to pull the sheet from between them for fuller contact, trying to be patient for whatever Anni had in store for him.

As she kissed her way down, she gradually moved the sheet to reveal more of his flesh to savor, and Benedict plunged both hands in her hair, flexing his fingers through its silky thickness.  She must’ve have liked that, for she gave a throaty moan and moved her head in his hands, resting her cheek against his chest, her breath tickling his skin—while finally reaching to stroke the bulge in the sheet between them.  It was exactly what he wanted of her, raising a long groan from him.

Anni then straddled him, still worshiping his flesh not only with her lips and tongue, but with her hands and her breasts, taking her time to be sure not to miss any bit of him, wringing from him whimpers of assent.  She brushed his skin with the satiny curtain of her hair, moving down his body steadily, beautifully.  She finally pushed the sheet off of him, freeing him, and then undulated slowly as she pressed her breasts below his waist.  Anni cupped his stiffened cock between them, still tracing his flesh with open-mouthed kisses, all across his stomach and lower.  He bucked his hips in need for friction against her firm flesh, willing to spill himself if that was her intention for him.

And still she skimmed her delicate mouth across his skin, working it well past his navel, making him imagine how heavenly her kiss-swollen lips were going to feel when she finally took him in her mouth.  The lustrous fall of her hair grazing upon his pelvis made him cry out her name, with knowing how good it was going to be—making him want the tease of it to last while pining for immediate fulfillment of her promise.  

Anni paused to look up at him, breathing hard and smiling, clearly enjoying the power she had over him.  She took a sheath of her hair in hand and swept it across his abdomen in an exquisite, narrowing circle, finally wrapping it around his hardened phallus, making him shudder and grunt hard.  She gripped him lightly through her hair while he moved slowly within her grasp, breathing in rhythm with her motion, aching to come but knowing she planned even sweeter pleasure for him.

“Does this please you, Ben?” she asked, sultry and patient, reading his answer in the hand he cupped against her head, threading his fingers in her locks, so that she tightened her hold on him.

“Yes…god yes,” he panted, “…please, don’t stop…oh god, Anni…,” he inhaled sharply as she stroked him harder, “…whatever you want, but just…ahhhh…don’t…stop…”  He began to wonder if he could even last for the finish she intended.

He watched as she peered up at him, her pupils large and dazzled looking, her mouth a small ‘o’ as she exhaled softly, before wetting her lips and bending her head again to kiss along his inner thighs, moaning now with the delight of pleasing him.  And finally—oh finally!—her lips found their way to the base of his erection, delivering those longed for, feather-soft, adoring kisses, while she enclosed his shaft in her fingers.

Benedict’s focus narrowed to the play of Anni’s hands and mouth, the way she took her time, moving him relentlessly to his climax, wringing an almost constant moan from him.  Her kisses were wet and teasing, and still she held him tight, varying the pressure of her strokes, while cupping his scrotum in gentle fingers.  He rolled his hips in response, wanting more, ever more--and then she was licking him and running her tongue around the ridge at the bell-end of his cock, tasting him exactly as she had promised.  He shuddered in ecstasy when she finally slipped her lips around his head, until all her wanted was to have her finally take him full in her luscious mouth.     

And at last she did, holding him firmly at the root and sliding him deep, the swirls of her tongue ripping mighty groans from his throat, urgent with need and burying his hands in her hair.  The bliss as she sucked him was indescribable; he wanted to ride the pleasure forever, even knowing that was impossible.

Murmuring her name, calling her his sweet baby, his beautiful, beautiful girl, Benedict felt the building tension coil in his loins, mounting towards undeniable release.  Reading all his signals, Anni drew on him relentlessly, clasping him firmly with both hands, until nature overruled his desire to make it last and he arched his pelvis in a final thrust, coming hard, out of all control.  She took and took and took it all, swallowing deeply and still holding him tight.

Shaking a little from the power of his release, he lightened the hold of his hands in her hair, exhaling his relief.  When Anni quietly slipped him from her mouth, the air was so cool by comparison that it made his skin prickle.  He could hear her panting as she moved her way up and laid her head against his chest, her hair spread across his skin a comfort now.  She rested her hands along his ribs while their breathing slowed to resting pace, in sync with one another’s.

“Anni?” he asked hoarsely, smoothing his hands on her hair.  She rocked her head slightly, sighing only ‘ssssshhhhhh’, so that he waited speechless, until she would indicate what she might want or need of him.  Benedict lay, eyes wide in the darkness, marveling at how unselfishly she had loved him, and wanting to give her the world, if he could; the world, at the very least.

They hovered there for several minutes, in satisfied silence until Anni stirred and left a path of tender kisses across his skin, before moving from the bed and into the bathroom.  She left the door slightly ajar, and Benedict listened as she ran the water, washing up.  He felt heavy with waiting for her, and suspended in time.  When she stood in the doorway again, he couldn’t help but see the light behind her like a halo.  “Come back to bed,” he growled, not meaning to sound demanding, “Please.”  And then much softer, “I need your warmth, Anni.  And I need to hold you.”

Anni smiled sweetly, all trace of his fierce little temptress faded for a time, coming to lay beside him.  He pulled the sheet up to cover them both, and then folded her in his arms, fighting off the delicious urge to sleep just yet, until he was certain of her comfort.  Benedict nuzzled against her hair, breathing deeply in satisfaction, tightening his embrace, so that she hummed softly, burrowing against him.  “Anni,” he started, voice just above a husky whisper, “you’re making me feel things for you I hadn’t expected to feel so soon…”

“Ssssshhhh,” she said again, kissing just below his ear, “let’s let it be for now, Ben. Sometimes it’s best not to say it out loud, especially so soon.”  She sounded thoughtful, and a little tired, “Let’s just sleep on it a while, okay?”

“Is that really what you want?” he asked, stymied by her request, but willing to grant her whatever she wished.

Anni nodded her head against him and fetched a quiet sigh, “For now, anyway.  We’ve rushed some things a bit so far, so maybe it’s best to take our time about…” she waited a breath, a heartbeat, for thought, “…putting any sort of label on what we’re feeling.”

He stayed silent as he considered her true meaning.  “Alright then,” he told her quietly, “but I _need_ to say this.”  She didn’t make a sound, and remained relaxed in his arms. “You can depend on me, Anni.  In case you’re wondering.  There’s a place in my life for you; a place I’ve been wanting to fill for a long while now.”  Benedict paused a moment more, then added before closing his eyes, ready to sleep, “Just so you know, my little darling.  I’m stuck on you good.”

He felt her smile against his skin.  “Fair enough,” she whispered, “because I feel the very same.”  Anni pressed her lips against his neck, her hand resting softly upon his chest, “Now sleep and dream sweetly,” she told him, “and hold me without letting go.”  She tucked her head against his shoulder, settling down to sleep herself, murmuring her faith in him upon his skin, between gentle goodnight kisses, “All shall be well, my darling Ben…and all shall be well…and all manner of things shall be well.” 

As he nodded off under the soft spell of her words, he agreed that all _was_ very well indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Thank you for reading if you've made it this far! I swear it's not just going to "devolve" into smut alone. Their romance has a way to go, and we'll be learning more of Anni's backstory very soon.)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a wee reminder: although I have used certain real world events in the course of this story, it remains--of course--a work of pure fiction. Think of it as a very alternate reality. One that has my imagination fully ensnared. And as always, thank you Kind Reader, for indulging me!

What wonderful sensations to awaken to, she thought, nestling as close as she could against his body. They had fallen asleep contented and spooning, this time for several hours—but then, they both had _needed_ the rest. Anni smiled to herself, reflecting on all that had happened since Benedict had literally bowled her over on the night that they had met. Life had somehow fallen into a most pleasant pattern for them, for although his work kept him away from her for days at a time—with the coming months boding even longer separations--each time he returned it seemed the heat between them grew ever stronger. Even in his absences, Anni was happier than she’d ever been, light of heart in her daily labors, and hopeful for the future.

And it was pure bliss, lying in his embrace right now, his right hand casually cupping her breast. She wondered if he was sleeping still, not wishing to disturb his peace if that was the case. It was enough to know she was his woman now, no longer fearing he would cast her aside once he’d slaked himself in her. Their unions had become far more than physical; so much so that in the heights of passion, Anni had to call upon deep discipline more than once, to keep herself from saying those three little words, believing it was still too soon to make that declaration. But she was sure he must’ve read them in how she made love to him—and she dared to believe the same feeling was growing in his heart. She had even stopped him, a time or two, from saying such words himself, again for caution’s sake. If it was real, if it was to last, there would be plenty of time to speak it aloud.

But he was awake after all, mumbling a good morning against her ear, then brushing her hair aside to kiss her neck repeatedly. She purred a good morning back, and he began to fondle her breast softly. Anni grinned, happy for whatever play Benedict had in mind.

His lips were busy against her neck, his hand sliding down to her midriff to pull her snugly against him. She could feel him stiffening against her bum, whetting her desire, making her want to give in to whatever he had in mind. Yet she teased him lightly, “Don’t you have someplace to be this morning?” as she wiggled against him.

“You know I do,” he rumbled, turning her onto her back to trace insistent kisses upon her throat, “but we have enough time for…” his tone turned suggestive as his lips drifted downward, to let his open mouth hover above the peak of her nipple, toying with her in just the way she adored, “…a bit of a go…” He circled her areola with the tip of his tongue, then brushed his moistened lips against it before pulling away, so that Anni whimpered with her need for more. His warm breath tickled her wet flesh as he spoke, “Unless you’ve changed your mind and need to get up and get ready yourself.” Benedict looked up at her, hopeful she had finally decided to join him.

Anni nested her fingers in his hair, enjoying one of her favourite textures in the world, entranced by the expectation in his astounding eyes. She wanted very much to say yes, but one of them needed to be judicious after all. “We’ve been over this, Ben. It’s still way too soon for me to be your ‘plus one’. Out of respect for the bride at the very least,” she reminded him. “Let alone what a poor impression I’d make on your friends, to be that presumptuous. And, in fact…” Benedict lowered his lips upon her again, “…ooooooo, _that’s_ nice…” she crooned without meaning to; damn, but he knew how to work her body all too well. Anni tried to concentrate on what needed saying, but he was quickly distracting her from rational thought. “In fact, I traded shifts with Inez, so we could have _all_ of tomorrow together.” He made a pleased sound at that, moving his head so to kiss his way along her ribs. Anni gasped in delight, telling him, “So I’m working a double today, and I _cannot_ ring in sick again, and you don’t need to try any further to convince…mmmm…”   She couldn’t even finish her thought, instead tightening her hold in his hair as his lips followed the line of her ribs to the dip of her waist and the easy swell of her hips.

“Then we’d better make good use of the time we have left before I go,” he murmured, his warm, moist kisses growing bolder as they passed to the tender flesh beneath her navel, while he gripped her hips to pin her in place and used his thumbs to trace soothing paths to the juncture of her thighs.

“Mmmm, yes,” she murmured as her breathing deepened in anticipation, and she slid her hands to his shoulders to urge him downward. “Yes,” she repeated, as he smoothly parted her thighs, his lips achingly close to his goal, “we better do just that…” Whatever else she might have said was lost as she gave herself over to the beautiful will of his mouth; lost and forgotten beneath powerful waves of pleasure, the likes of which _no_ man in her past had so exquisitely given her.

And her heart--the scars from the past well on their way to healing with all the good he had brought into her life—was full past brimming with wonder and with joy for the constant vigor of his affection and the tenderness amid his passion for her. Anni had never expected to find herself so treasured--and by so exceptional a soul, who, step by step, was restoring her faith in both the promises of men, and the happy possibilities that being truly loved can bring.

* * *

It wasn’t just the need for a quick cigarette that drew Benedict away from the celebration in the banquet room. That was only what he had been prepared to tell people, if he had been asked. In point of fact, he had succeeded in cutting down to only two or three smokes a day--for his well-being, yes, as he was extending an overall effort to make healthier choices in anticipation of the grueling season of travel and promotion that lay ahead for him. But the bigger reason for cutting back was that he simply _needed_ it less—and in his heart he knew _that_ change was purely due to the quiet satisfaction and sense of completion Anni had brought to his life.

Similarly, Anni was the main reason he had ducked out of the reception; for he was missing her keenly, and hoped to catch her attention for a little while, via text. Waiting on her to reply, he reflected on how lovely she had looked that morning--clad in his old chambray shirt, slipping quietly behind him as he shaved, sliding her arms around his waist and placing gentle kisses between his shoulder blades. “Coffee’s on,” she’d told him, inhaling deeply the clean scent of his freshly showered skin, “Hope you’ve left time for a bit of breakfast.  Cinnamon scones will be out of the oven in a few minutes.”   He wondered if she had any inkling of how content the simple domesticity of such a moment made him--for it was an element that had been missing from his life for far too long.

And when he’d kissed her goodbye for the day, lingering before the front door for as long as he could, telling her again how much he wished she would be at his side today, the warmth in her eyes and the light of her small smile told him she wished the same. She stretched her neck a little to murmur against his ear, “Next time, Ben, I promise,” her soft lips bussing his cheek before she moved back to gaze at him.

Distracted by the pretty picture Anni made—hair still mussed from sleep, face aglow with her tenderness for him--Benedict had nearly overlooked the surprise he’d planned for her. He remembered as he grasped the door handle, turning back to her as he reached into his pocket. “Almost forgot,” he told her earnestly, while taking her hand to press his spare key into it--a small joy he’d been looking forward to in the several days since he had decided the time was right for it. “This is for you—and I won’t take no for an answer.”

Anni appeared stunned, speechless and clearly unprepared for this next, very natural step in their relationship. She blinked several times, drew a quick breath as if to reply, then simply smiled and nodded her head. Swiftly recovering her composure, she draped her arms around his neck and kissed him thoroughly, leaving no doubt in Benedict’s mind as to what she felt. “I'll just let myself in then, if you’re late getting home?” That she had accepted the key without protest warmed his heart immensely.  

Even so, he was missing her this afternoon, surrounded as he was by the happiness and romance of the occasion, regretting still that she had declined his invitation; but he’d behaved and waited as long as he could before slipping away inconspicuously to text her. Doing so while she worked was usually hit or miss, for she maintained an admirable work ethic—archaic even, by the standards set by most of her generation—of not indulging in personal business on the clock. Anni had promised to relent today in that practice, to make up a bit for turning down his offer. He took a last couple of drags on his cigarette before stubbing it out on a makeshift foil ashtray, when his mobile buzzed with her response. Benedict opened it eagerly, musing upon how absence really did make the heart grow fonder. Her coy reply was exactly what he’d hoped for, daring him to send back something equally frisky. Benedict chuckled as he typed his answer back.

An amused voice called from behind him, “You know, Ben, you could’ve just brought her along today.” He turned to see James standing in the doorway, eyeing him with smiling appraisal.

Surprised at being caught out, Benedict pretended he didn’t get his friend’s reference. “I was just grabbing a quick smoke,” he responded, trying to change the subject, “I haven’t missed the cake cutting, have I?” He pocketed his phone while he moved to join him.

James shook his head and replied in perfect deadpan, “Bollocks, Ben. You can fool most of them,” he tossed his head to indicate the family and friends back in the reception hall, “but I’ve known you long enough to recognize the symptoms.”

Benedict scoffed quietly, meaning to look taken aback, “Symptoms, James?” His brow furrowed as he tried to project confusion, “What are you going on about?”

Smirking skeptically, James clapped a steady hand on his shoulder, “The symptoms of Benedict in love, you git.”

Benedict hesitated, considering denial only briefly, and realizing at once that his friend knew him only too well. He looked down a moment, then chuckled in defeat. “I dunno if I’d call it love quite yet,” he answered wryly, shaking his head before meeting James’s firm gaze, “but she certainly has me under her spell."  James only nodded, grinning at the not-so startling admission, as Benedict asked, “What gave me away?”

“Well, for starters,” James replied, still smiling broadly, “you’ve been distracted for weeks now, and mysteriously keeping to yourself quite a bit…”

“That’s pretty flimsy evidence,” Benedict interjected, playing the devil’s advocate humorously, “You do realize I’ve had a lot going on lately?”

James continued without pause, meeting the challenge his friend presented, “...you seem to drop out of sight in your downtime, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed. We hardly see you anymore, and when we do, well…” Benedict opened his mouth to respond, but James gently waved him off. “And _when_ we do, you’re just not entirely,” he tilted his head, appraising him quietly, “ _with_ us.”

Genuinely believing his behavior hadn’t been that obvious, Benedict had to assert a sardonic--albeit mild--defense, “And that has nothing whatsoever to do with all the projects I’ve got going right now...”

“And then, last night, at the rehearsal dinner,” James went on, acknowledging Benedict’s statement with a bemused wink, “the later the hour, the more preoccupied you seemed…”

Benedict conceded the point with a quirky smile; for in truth, he and Anni had a standing date for Friday nights when he was in the city—she usually had Fridays free, and if not, she made sure to trade off so they could spend the evening together. With their time together being so often limited, he had been impatient to leave, even before the evening festivities wound down. “Perhaps I was just a bit overtired,” he countered lightly, knowing James had his number down pat, “You know I’ve been bounding around like a madman, what with promotionals and interviews for _The Imitation Game_ , and filming for _The Hollow Crown_ series--I’m running on fumes these days…”

“C’mon Ben—I know you better than that,” James laughed, “You’re a borderline workaholic who thrives on all of that.”

Benedict pursed his lips, searching for a suitable rejoinder; James was very correct in that assessment, and he ultimately couldn't refute it.

“And since when are you the first to leave a party of any sort?” James asked him, pressing his case, “ _You’re_ the one most likely to drink us all under the table, normally. I know your schedule has been insanely intense, but don’t give me the excuse ‘ _these old bones don’t bounce_ _back like they used to’_ …”

“Well they don’t…” Benedict sputtered, feeling the truth of that sad fact, “…they really, _really_ don’t…”

“Uh-huh,” James said, shaking his head with the fondness born of being able to predict Benedict so well. “So—does this girl have a name?”

Benedict sighed, relieved his charade was put to rest at last, “Annika.” Yes, it felt quite nice to share his secret finally. “Anni.” He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face at the thought of her.

James clucked his tongue, “And…there it is again.”

 Perplexed, Benedict smirked, “What is?”

Satisfied and certain of his opinion, James replied, “That look that only _you_ can get.” Benedict remained a little confounded, until James answered further, “That look of Benedict in love…” He trailed off, heading for the door, but then turned back to Benedict, “Once Hattie and I get back from honeymooning, you should bring this Anni around. Dinner, drinks, the lot. We’d love to get to know her.”

Benedict had been set with a cheeky reply, when his phone chimed again, confirming James’ hunch. “Well now,” he laughed, “I’ll bet that’s her right now. Best you don’t keep her waiting too long for an answer.” He flashed Benedict a wink and an honest grin, before walking away while whistling Buble’s _Everything_.

Benedict shook his head at the notion James had presented. Was it truly possible, and was he so obvious about it already? It had only been a matter of weeks. He could admit he was falling, surely; falling wonderfully, and not fighting the fall in the least. That Anni made his blood race, even just thinking about the time they spent together. That every time his mobile chimed with her text alert, he lost his focus on whatever he was doing, anxious in that very good way, to read her words as soon as he could. That her gentle nature, sly humor, and quiet smarts conspired to fill his wish list for a companion. That when they were apart, he would often speculate what she might be up to. That those nights they didn’t spend together—too many as far as he was concerned—were always due to his hectic schedule; and that those nights found him thinking purely of her as sleep overtook him. In anyone else, Benedict knew he’d see the same as James had: the undeniable symptoms of a man in love.

Alright then, he admitted to himself, as he texted his reply. Anni undoubtedly has a sweet hold on my heart—and on my libido, for certain. The sex had been mind blowing, to say the least. He’d tried more than once to figure out just why. At times, he supposed it was his age and the years of practice that it afforded him, juxtaposed against her relative youth and limited experience. Anni was forthright and giving, soft and eager, with a quiet hunger underlying all, which made him want to please her beyond any need for seeking his own pleasure. She hid nothing of her heart when he touched her, when he explored her, when he moved inside her, and that was pure intoxication, delivered with no hesitation whatsoever. Benedict knew himself to be far more smitten than their few weeks together should allow for—but he knew, as well, that Anni was still skittish about that one thing…hearing the actual words…and speaking them herself.

Benedict closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he accepted this sweet new reality, allowing the truth to settle in the center of his chest, the satisfying warmth of it spreading out from there to fill him completely.

He looked down at his mobile, to see Anni’s latest text “ _Break over now, Ben. Gtg- but counting_ _the hours till we’re together again. xoxox”_ He knew he’d be silently counting the hours as well, as he left the little antechamber and returned to the joyous celebration, still wishing she was there, wishing he could lead her onto the floor and dance her through the evening to every romantic sounding tune the band could manage.

* * *

The light in the foyer was enough to tell him that Anni had beat him home after all. Home and waiting for _him_ , just an ordinary, everyday sort of thing; the sort of thing most people took for granted, living their quiet, anonymous lives. Benedict had yearned so long for just this sort of ordinary as his fame had moved him pell-mell from such possibilities, but he had never envisioned how easily it would come to pass once the right woman had found her way into his life. Anni had taken him swiftly, honestly, effortlessly, and with no pretense or demands of any kind--and as he closed the door behind him, pocketing his keys, he promised himself to make the most of every moment of “ordinary” happiness her presence in his home, and in his life, held in store.

Low light spilled out from the kitchen down the hall, but he guessed she was likely in his living room by the soft flicker of light from the television. Benedict found her curled comfortably on his couch, feet tucked neatly beneath her, sipping a glass of what turned out to be his favorite chardonnay. A spare goblet stood on the occasional table, waiting just for him, beside the still chilled bottle of wine. Coming up behind her quietly, he laid a hand on her shoulder to let her know he was there. Anni nuzzled her cheek against his hand, sighing a happy sound of satisfaction, before looking back and up at him, “’bout time, Ben,” she teased, “the best part’s yet to come.” She tilted her head to indicate the old black & white movie playing on the screen.

Benedict leaned over to kiss her, tasting the wine and her sweetness altogether. It left her looking dreamy, with her eyes still closed, and offering her lips up still for further kisses. His voice was soft as the beautiful simplicity of the moment prompted him to trace his thumb upon her lips, “I dunno about that, honey. _This_ part seems pretty damn brilliant to me.”

“Oh my,” she sighed, opening her eyes, “you do have a way of making a girl wonderfully weak.” A small, coy smile dimpled her cheeks, “Come and sit with me a while?”

He nodded, withdrawing his hand, taking off his jacket and loosening his tie as he circled around the couch to join her. Anni set her glass on the table and moved into his outstretched arm, snuggling against him as they both turned to face the television. She laid a hand casually on his chest, and without a thought he covered it with his own.

They watched quietly for a time, content as the story played out, sipping their wine, with Anni asking occasional questions about his day, and Benedict answering her queries softly--all the while satisfied and in no rush to break the tranquility that had settled upon them. He thought perhaps she had drifted to sleep as the film drew to its conclusion, until she cleared her throat to speak his name, “Benedict?”

The question in her voice prompted a wee smile, “Yes, Anni?” She paused long enough to make him wonder if it was something serious, piquing his curiosity, so that he asked again, indulgently, “What is it, baby? What’s on your mind?” He shifted his head slightly so he could see her face, lit by the glow of the television. It surprised him to see her forehead furrowed, and he guessed she was searching for the best way to proceed.

She sighed decisively, nestling her head against him still, “That thing you did this morning…” her breath hitched as she trailed off.

Of course, he told himself—although she had accepted his key without comment this morning, perhaps she was feeling it was a little early in their relationship for such a development. Coming home just now, how it had felt to find her waiting for him this way, was exactly what he needed, and he vowed to tell her so. “The key? Anni…honey…I don’t think it’s too soon at all…”

She inhaled sharply and fidgeted with the knot in his tie. Her voice was husky and she sounded amused, “No…um…I mean, the… _other_ thing.” She seemed to hold her breath as she waited on his reply.

“Oh…” Benedict felt his cheeks flush a little in the darkness, recalling with complete clarity what had passed between them, “… _that_ thing…” The memory filled him with a delicious warmth.

“Yes,” she sighed, giving a little shiver (he hoped it was at the memory of such sweet pleasure) as she went on, “…I thought you should know…um…no one’s ever done that to me before.” She smoothed her palm along his tie, anxious for his response.

Incredulous, this was the least he had expected to hear. Yet it suddenly made sense, for although they had shared many things—Anni so passionately willing and giving--she seemed suddenly reticent and shy, eager to shift things in other directions whenever he moved to please her in that way.  It took several moments for him to absorb this new knowledge, finally asking in surprise, “You…you mean you _never_?”

She shook her head against him, “Not once.” He was glad to sense she felt no shame in this, as she continued, “Well, I mean…there were those who wanted to, but I didn’t…I couldn’t…just couldn’t…let them.” Benedict began to stroke her hair, rubbing her hand on his chest softly to encourage her to tell all. Those little gestures helped her words come less haltingly, “I think it was always a matter of trust. I couldn’t let myself be _that_ vulnerable. Not with them, anyway.”

It dawned on him that Anni was telling him more than her story; she was admitting how far he had made his way into her heart. The power of that moment was profound, as she continued, moving so she could face him directly, “And then, my last…” she rolled her eyes, unwilling to even say the name, and by this, telling Benedict what he’d already guessed—she’d been hurt, and badly. “He never even offered. It was something I’d resigned myself to never experience.” He felt a small ember of anger spark inside his chest, towards the nameless fool who had made her feel any less cherished than she deserved.

Anni must have seen a flicker of that feeling cross his face, for she quickly added, “But I know now it was pure selfishness on his part. That I deserved far better.” She pulled close to kiss him sweetly, brushing the tip of her nose against his for good measure, “And now? Now I couldn’t be happier that _you_ are the first.”

Gazing in her eyes, seeing the truth of her happiness, and knowing there were yet so many precious firsts awaiting them, Benedict hugged her close. Awed by her trust in him, humbled by her sweet regard, he told her gently, “You’re my pearl of great price, Anni. My sweet baby.” She clung to him as he promised, “And I swear I will always treasure you exactly as you deserve, and never give you cause to doubt your worth to me.”

Nuzzling his neck, she sighed a soft reply, “Well then…if thou wilt—then swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry.” She sighed again, fully ensconced in his arms, and he could feel her smile against his skin as she added, “And I’ll believe thee.”

James had been right all along, Benedict reckoned; but then perhaps it was easy for a man so deeply in love himself, to spot the signs in others, of the very same.

 

_(to be continued...)_

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The European debut of "The Imitation Game" at the 2014 BFI British Film Festival. Again, this is a fictional account, in a completely alternate reality...but the feelings as I've envisioned them are as real as any two people in love might feel.

It was the green cocktail dress again, but she’d be wearing it _all_ evening this time—no question about that, no question whatsoever. To that, Anni had added a pretty little black velvet bolero jacket that she had borrowed from Helene—once she’d finally revealed to her roommate-in-semi-absentia that she would be attending the gala premiere of her boyfriend’s movie. _Her_ boyfriend. Her boyfriend, Benedict Cumberbatch. True as it was, each time Anni said or thought those four words all together, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was just some marvelous dream of a fever or concussion addled brain; but if that _was_ the case, she wished never to awaken from it. Ever.

Helene, of course, had been gob smacked and speechless at the revelation, and had blushed and giggled like a teenage girl when introduced to Benedict. He had been his usual patient, gracious self, eventually putting Helene at ease, treating her to dinner out with them and charmingly managing to get her to agree to keep the knowledge of their romance confidential for the time being.

The jacket was necessary because the evening’s weather held a bit of ill promise. It looked to be a blustery one, and more rain was expected. Anni wondered if that old actor’s adage about opening night rain being good luck applied here. Of course, it wasn’t required in this case; early reviews of the film were stellar, and there was plentiful talk of Oscar nominations to come. Anni’s heart sang a little each time she read a glowing critique, so happy for the world to discover that which _she_ was certain of from just the trailers alone: Benedict’s performance was the tour de force that would make the public at large acknowledge him as one of the brightest talents of his generation.

And tonight she’d finally get to see the film for herself. Initially, when he had broached the idea of taking her to the premiere, Anni had a list of reasons to be reluctant, which outweighed her immediate desire to simply say yes. It was too early, she had told him, too soon in their relationship for such an honor. Perhaps if the movie was something lighter in nature, like a comedy, or something of an adventure or a mystery, then the sight of a younger, unknown woman on his arm would draw lesser notice by the press. Anni could never allow herself to be even a minor distraction from the importance of the film and Benedict’s amazing work.

Ben had bowed his head humbly, acknowledging her point, but shortly reminding her of the promise she had made when she declined his invitation to James and Hattie’s wedding. “You’re catching me on a technicality,” she told him, trying to sound grave and serious, but unable to hide the true delight she felt at how much he seemed to want her at his side.

“I’ll take you however I can get you, honey,” he’d replied, pulling her onto his lap and t’sking at her weak argument, “And I know you well enough to see this is exactly what you’ve been wishing for. You don’t fool me at all.” His smirk dared her to deny the truth of it, leaving her no choice but to acquiesce.

Still, a few days later, she had tried to change his mind. “You know, I wasn’t even a part of your life when you made _The Imitation Game_. It just doesn’t seem right, or even fair, for me to swoop in now as though I was there, in the background, supporting you as you did the finest work of your life.”

“But you’re in my life now,” he countered patiently, “and I’ll be even happier for sharing this night with the woman I…” Benedict had paused here; Anni guessed he was debating saying _that_ word, that actual word which _both_ of them had nearly said a dozen times already. That word that summed up how she had felt about him for some time now, but couldn’t let herself be the first to say—old lessons still die hard at times, and this was one of them.

Perhaps he read her mind, or perhaps he held the same sort of prohibition; whatever the case, he added quietly, “…the woman who has made me happier than I’ve been in ages.” His lips pursed in a mock pout, “You wouldn’t deny me that pleasure, would you Anni?”  

And of course she could not.

But in the end, once she had learned his parents were to attend, Anni felt a sense of panic about the evening begin to grow, and it wasn’t long until he read that in her eyes. When he asked her what was wrong, she had to tell him the truth, “Honestly, Ben, I’m not ready for this. And the circumstances—no, it’s not right.” She couldn’t stand the thought of appearing to be too audacious, or even just plain pushy, especially to those he held most dear. Anni chose her words with care, to be sure he truly understood her misgivings, “Your parents raised you to be a gem among men, and they must be so proud of all that you’ve accomplished. They _deserve_ to be able to enjoy the evening, and all your success, without having to deal with some silly girl who only just popped into your life a month ago.”

Benedict had surely felt the depth of her sincerity, and seen the undeniable truth behind her qualms. He had nodded and, taking her hands in his, kissed both sets of knuckles and told her, “For the record, I think they will adore you when the time comes. And I’m looking forward to proudly introducing you, because I know they will find you as sweet and as lovely a woman as I do. But I suppose to be fair, it probably would be best to wait for better timing.” He nodded again, convinced enough now to put Anni’s mind at ease, “And a less public setting as well.” In her relief, she hugged him tightly, free now to look forward to what the evening held in store.

“I’ll still have you beside me at the screening,” he insisted, his lips resting lightly against her temple, “and that, my dear, is not negotiable.”

Anni hummed happily, confident he would find a way to make it all work, “Of course, darling. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

And so, in consideration of his parents—and to shield Anni a while longer from the paparazzi and the prying of the gossip press, Benedict arranged for her to attend the premiere as just another member of Karon’s publicity team. To his great surprise, Karon hadn’t batted an eye when he confided in her about their relationship—for just like James, she had noticed the signs that her favorite client had found something besides his work to keep him busy, and very, _very_ happy.

“About damn time you admitted to what’s been going on, Ben,” she chided him frankly, “I can continue with the ‘no comments’ and misdirection for as long as you like, but it won’t be a secret forever. Does she have what it takes to stand the scrutiny? You know the rumor mill can be downright vicious.”

“Which is exactly why we’ve kept things as quiet as we have,” he professed, “I’ll do whatever it takes to soften the blows for her.”

“Well, with a bit of skill and a bit of luck, I think we’ll be able to manage that for the time being. I’d like to meet her though, and soon—there are some things the three of us need to discuss, ahead of the premiere.”

Anni had gone into the meeting a little intimidated, but quickly relaxed as she saw firsthand Karon’s dedication to doing whatever was necessary to promote _and_ protect Benedict and his interests. She answered Karon’s questions willingly, regarding her background and education, and the inevitable topic of past relationships. “If there’s any dirty laundry there, you can be sure it’ll be dug up and dragged out online,” Karon warned her, “And even the most innocuous things can be fuel for the fire. You need to know this going in…and I need to know you’ve got the stones to face it all without flinching.”

Anni could feel Benedict watching her, feel how much he believed in her, as she debated sharing a few things she still held close and quiet regarding her relationship with Jeremy. She needed to wait for the right time to tell him these things—and despite Karon’s counsel, Anni decided that this was not that time. Instead, she nodded her agreement to the terms set forward, certain she could handle what might come their way as long as she had Benedict’s support. “I can do this,” she affirmed, locking eyes with the man at her side. “Absolutely.”

Still, as the limo pulled away from Benedict’s flat, headed for the Odeon Leicester Square, Anni felt a mix of nerve wracking jitters and excited anticipation. He was seated next to his mother, and as planned, Anni had been introduced perfunctorily, as part of Karon’s team for the evening. His parents had been friendly and polite—no surprise—accepting her without question, as just part of his entourage, and in no time Anni settled into her small, quiet role. She would be shadowing Karon once they reached the theatre, doing her best to be inconspicuous, while the actual PA’s carried out their assigned duties. For now she sat across from him, doing her best not to meet his eyes for more than a moment at a time; they had only spoken a few words of passing acknowledgement since he and his parents had boarded the limousine, and Anni knew it remained best to keep their interaction to a minimum.

Benedict was speaking with his mother, laughing with her quietly, his father following their conversation and wearing that same crooked smile that Anni had come to adore on his son. It was truly astounding to see the stamp of both his parents on Benedict’s face and in his posture, and it was easy to see the loving bond between the three—making her doubly glad that she and Ben had decided not to complicate this special evening with relationship news. Anni turned to gaze out the window, smiling herself, happy to have seen this side him, and looking forward to the day when he would claim her as his own, to his family—and beyond.

The rain continued unabated, at turns lashing the windows in bursts, and then relenting to sprinkles. The group was well prepared for the worst of it, umbrellas at the ready as they neared their destination. Anni had worn her hair in a soft up-do, anticipating the wet, wind and humidity would play havoc with her usual loose curls. Not that she cared if anyone noticed her appearance, except for Ben of course. It was all about him tonight, and she was grateful just to be on hand for the debut of his most important work.

She felt her phone vibrate, and so reached into her small velvet bag to check the incoming text. “ _You okay?_ ” Anni bit her lip against the wide smile that wanted to break forth, letting her eyes steal up in Benedict’s direction to find him watching her. When he arched a brow, she had to look away; it was the only way she could resist a flirty response.

“ _Perfectly fine,_ ” she typed back, “ _so stop trying to get me in trouble_.”

“ _Honey, it’s what I live for._ ” He really was incorrigible at times, but she remained a moth to his flame.

“ _Please—don’t make me blush in front of your parents. Whatever will they think_?” The jitters she’d been feeling paled next to the sweet feeling of satisfaction in the center of her chest that, even now, he knew _exactly_ how to get to her.

“ _Surely that such colour in your cheeks makes you even prettier._ ” And then, before she could react, let alone text back, “ _And that perhaps their son might play it smart and get the young lady’s number._ ”

Anni couldn’t help it; she shook her head, then looked at him quickly, trying to relay admonishment, before replying definitively, “ _He’s had it from the very first, as you well know. Now please behave, because all I want right now is to kiss you long & deep, your parents or not…_” She took a deep breath, sent that to him, and then finished, “ _…and my discipline is wearing thin._ ”

She lifted her face to see his one more time, in punctuation of her request, then gave him her profile as she stared intently out of the window. This adventure was turning out to be much more pleasantly complicated then she had expected.

* * *

 

She had known the crowd would be large and loud, but even that expectation had not prepared Anni for what greeted them as the limousine joined the queue along the red carpet. She had no real, vital part to play, yet she felt her heart begin to race with a rush of adrenaline and her stomach seemed to twist as it had the first few times she’d appeared onstage. She closed her eyes, breathing steadily and deeply until she mastered those few moments of apprehension, finally adopting her game face just as the star of this show was about to debark. One of Karon’s PA’s held open the passenger door, allowing Benedict to emerge first, and the roar of the crowd escalated at this first sight of him. He faced it all with smooth aplomb, smiling genuinely and waving to the fans, many of whom wagged signs greeting him. He’d been handed a clear umbrella, and he began to make his way across the red carpet, sheltered beneath it, and lit along the path by the constant flashes of photographers catching his every move.

Anni, exiting the limo behind the Cumberbatches—who were quickly greeted, then moved along by Karon’s other PA—and Karon herself, watched him progress, fascinated by his interactions with his fans, and marveling at the constant grace with which he moved forward. It made her ache a little bit to be at his side, but there would be time enough later for that. But for the white shirt, Benedict was wearing that same suit as on the night they had met, the trim waistcoat and its snug buttons that little extra bit of magic in play to make him look even more devastatingly handsome than she recalled. Shocking herself, Anni felt just a hint of very unexpected lust--the kind that came upon her each time she saw him anew, after days of separation. She squashed that thought in nearly the moment it came to life ( _although,_ she promised herself _, he_ will _be hearing about this, come the proper time_ ) for such thoughts would never do at this event—and there would be time enough later for that as well.  

Karon tapped her shoulder lightly, breaking her reverie. “We’ll try to stay out of most of the cameras range,” she leaned in close to tell Anni, “Although we may get caught in a pic or two regardless.” Anni nodded her understanding, and Karon continued, directing her to follow, “Just try to watch getting in too close when he does those quick little interviews. We want to make for plenty of clean sight and sound bytes.”

With Karon’s patience and instruction, Anni moved along in her wake, making a determined effort not to stare as she recognized other cast members. Benedict had stopped, and was posing at the behest of shouted requests by various members of the press, and was shortly joined by his costar, Keira Knightly. They looked delighted to see each other, embracing warmly under his umbrella, and then posing together for another barrage of rapid flashes.

Above all else—above the roar and excitement of the crowd, above the rush of media about them trying to get his attention, above the expectation of excellence to come—Anni was moved by the simplest of things. Watching him smile, seeing him laugh (and wishing she was close enough to have its velvet tones brush her ears), reading his happiness in his posture and the way he moved—these were the memories she vowed to take away from this experience. And how he looked, so very handsome, easy and classic and so comfortable in his skin, and knowing at the end of the night her arms would be the ones he chose to fall asleep in. It was enough to make her raise a silent prayer of gratitude to whatever power had graciously allowed her a place in his life.

The gauntlet having been successfully run, the ticketed members of the crowd made their way into the theatre. Benedict and several cast members, as well as Director Morten Tyldum, were gathered at the front of house near a temporary podium. Both would be among a few who would be speaking shortly before the film began, and only after that would the chance come for Anni to put aside playacting and take her place beside him. The first few rows of seats had been reserved for the principle Artists, along with their guests, most of whom were already seated and waiting. Anni and Karon remained with the small group of professional personnel waiting off to the side, present as handlers and assistants to the actors and other creative staff. Once the introduction was complete, they would take their seats for the beginning of the film. From where she stood, Anni could see Benedict’s seat, front and center, marked with his name, and the seat on his right marked for Keira, with her husband already seated next to that. The seat to Benedict’s left hand was simply marked _Guest_ ; Anni swallowed hard, realizing that was _her_ place, and that this was all very real, and she would soon make her way over. There was sure to be notice by that time that she was more than a cog in the publicity machine, but in the darkness and at his side, she wouldn’t have a care about it.

Benedict’s address to the audience was brief, but eloquent, and no different from the comments he had made from the very first time she’d heard him speak of Alan Turing and _The Imitation Game_. In truth, if asked later, Anni could not have told what any of the other speakers said—for her attention remained on the man that owned her heart, even as he retired quietly from the podium, head bowed in honest humility. She knew, perhaps better than anyone else in that room, how very full his heart must be at the moment, and her soul swelled with pride and wonder and the sweetest kind of longing that the world might see him through her eyes. When the lights finally dimmed so all could take their seats, Anni sped to his side, her restraint in tatters, beaming the depth of her feelings as she looked up at face. Neither needed to hear what each was thinking, and for those seated close at hand…well…it was a lovely and surprising revelation.

* * *

 

Benedict had always found viewing himself on film, or hearing a recording of a vocal performance, to be a surreal experience—especially when significant time had passed since the work had been accomplished. Like many actors, he avoided it when he could, but his film and television work generally precluded that option. He would steel himself days in advance, for the shock that would inevitably hit him, of seeing his face and form on screen. And still he became his own worst critic, noticing every element that he’d surely gotten wrong, berating himself for details that seemed to him poor choices, tallying the misses only, and glossing over the hits. Rationally, he knew this was a hazard of the profession; he knew plenty of actors who did exactly the same (and a score of them in which this was false modesty, but that was an issue for others to contemplate). His father had warned him, more than once, against giving into this predilection in the early days of his career, and so Benedict tried his best, both then and now, not to let self-criticism overwhelm him. It was a long term life lesson, so that his father’s advice remained precious watch-words for him. Especially tonight, when so much of his heart was invested in this story and in the unlikely hero that deserved the recognition and justice that everyone involved in the production hoped would finally come to fruition.

The reception the film had received in Toronto had been gratifying, and held much early promise of critical success. But for Benedict, this European premiere here in London felt far more important, for not only was this his home, his city, and his people, this was the nation saved by Turing’s work--a vital piece of history that too many of its citizens were sadly unaware. Benedict would be foolish not to admit, as well, that the anxious edge to his excitement was due to the presence of those he loved best; not just his mum and dad, but his dear Anni. She understood already what the role meant to him. Ideally, she would see the depth of heart that had gone into the role, see with unstinting clarity and be the honest critic he needed the most.

And having seen the initial screening in Toronto, Benedict found he could let his attention wander a bit, to catch the reactions of those around him as the story played out. His parents were seated directly behind him, but they were an easy read; the firm hand of his father on his shoulder at moments, the sound of his mother’s quick intake of breath at others—he felt their approval and support in droves, but that was to be expected. It was Anni’s reaction he looked forward to the most, and she did not disappoint him.

He found it easy to subtly observe her, as open a book as she was in this regard. Her eyes widening with each of his appearances on screen; her small smiles, and then her soft laughter at the moments of humor; her quiet, slow exhales following tense moments; the tilt of her head as she connected emotionally to the characters and situations. When he turned to face the screen himself, he could feel her watching him at times, until he felt compelled to meet her eyes, finding in them honest admiration. Most telling of all, was the press of her hand upon his—for she had reached for him from the first scene, and not let go since, giving him the gentlest of squeezes when she was most profoundly moved. Wordlessly, effortlessly, she told him how she felt, calm and proud and very much in awe of his work.

His tenderhearted Anni, crying softly as Alan and his team finally cracked the code; crying for Peter Hilton and the loss that couldn’t be prevented; crying for Alan as he broke ties with Joan Clarke in order to protect her. That was the point where she drew her hand from his, and only because she needed a tissue from her little velvet bag. Then tears again as young Alan stoically accepted the news of Christopher’s Morcom’s death—that was a scene that moved Benedict as equally as it did the woman beside him.

And that final heart wrenching scene, Alan reduced to a shell of himself, lonely and despairing, and needing to be reminded of the value and wonder of the work he had done. Benedict had told her a little of how playing that scene had affected him, and so she had been prepared; yet still, she wept, covering her mouth to stifle the sound amidst the hushed, enrapt theatre. She was not the only one he could hear sniffling in the darkness—mum was crying as well, as were dozens of others throughout the audience. His truest satisfaction was in realizing he _had_ succeeded in bringing the truth of Turning’s pain to light.

Benedict thought the closing sequence a masterpiece of storytelling, as he listened for what he’d heard weeks ago in Toronto: the gasps of people realizing the gross miscarriage of justice that eventually led Turing to take his own life. As the credits rolled, he felt the crowd around him begin to take to their feet, and the applause build and build, eventually drowning out the music with its relentless acclaim.

Anni had risen as well, holding his hand again, her other hand laid over her heart, her face still moist with tears even as she smiled down at him, looking so proud and bittersweet and astounded all at once. It was exactly what he’d hoped for when he insisted she be at his side this night. There must be no greater glory, he thought, than the job done well, done the best that one had to offer--and having someone you love to share the joy of it with.

* * *

 

After the triumphant screening, things began to happen fast, leaving both Benedict and Anni drawn into a blur of activity. Caught up as he was in the congratulations of family, friends and colleagues, they became separated, but it was several minutes until he even noticed she was nowhere in sight. Realizing her absence he excused himself from the current conversation so he could track her down. It wasn’t long at all until he found her—standing next to Karon and her people at the front of house again, calmly waiting him out. When he moved as though to join her, she smiled and shook her head, then lifted her chin to indicate he should return to the press of people behind him; that she was fine and satisfied to wait was clear in her relaxed posture and happy expression. As ever, her instinct as to what was best for him was unerring, with her willingness to take a backseat to his needs reminding him why she had become so swiftly, an essential part of his life.

The audience trickled out, leaving behind the small multitude of people connected to the production, and their guests. Most would be moving along to the after-party, although his parents had already decided they would call it a night. Arm in arm with his mother, he saw them to the exit, as she wrung promises from him to come by and visit soon. He thought perhaps Anni had escaped their notice after all, until dad leaned in to embrace him soundly, telling him up close, “Perhaps you’ll bring along that lovely little lady from the limo ride. For some odd reason, Mum has gotten the impression she’s a bit more to you than you’ve actually let on.” He patted Benedict warmly, before moving out of the hug, and meeting his eye long enough for son to read in father’s eyes that _neither_ of his parents remained fooled into thinking Anni was just an employee.

“Will do, Dad,” was his sheepish, grinning reply. Had he _really_ thought they couldn’t read the truth of things in every unspoken second Anni had been in his presence? How naive, he told himself, to think it wasn’t plain to the world what he and Anni meant to one another.

* * *

 

In the limousine bearing them back to his flat, alone at last and happily exhausted, Benedict felt no rush to hear Anni’s verdict on the movie and on his work.  He already knew she was thinking only good things. She had laid her head against his shoulder and entwined her arm in his, as he contemplated how well she had taken to the party, fitting in with ease, affording him the time and space to enjoy the company of his friends from the film, and gladly enabling him to bask in the satisfaction of his success.

When he spoke of it, Anni made light of the small part she had played, even teasing him playfully, “You know, you were pretty damn irresistible tonight. I wondered at times how I was managing to keep my hands to myself.”

Benedict couldn’t help but chuckle, “ _That’s_ your takeaway for the evening? And here I was thinking you were just speechless with astonishment about my performance.”

Anni sat up to face him, the light of passing traffic enough for him to read from her expression that she finally meant to tell him exactly what she thought. “Oh Ben,” she began, her voice low and sincere, “You were the perfect confluence of character and actor. I’ve never seen the like before.” She fetched a deep sigh before continuing, “And I know you heard it at least a hundred times tonight already, but you were completely amazing…and beautiful…and…and…well, heartbreaking…” Her eyes flitted down as she ran the fingers of one hand along the shawl collar of his jacket, considering how to explain all the things she felt. When Anni looked back to him, her lashes were wet and she exhaled slowly with the effort to keep her feelings in check. “And that last scene? My god, Ben--there was so much of _you_ that I saw there…”

His breath faltered a moment as he anticipated the truth of her perceptions, for indeed it was exactly as she said. Anni shook her head roughly, reaching for the best way to express her thoughts and feelings. “I mean it was Alan, of course…of course it was…but somehow it was _you_ too…so sad and vulnerable, and so awfully, terribly lonely…and it actually…” she looked down again, and this time she couldn’t stay her tears, “…it actually hurt to see you suffer that way.” She took a deep breath and then continued, “I know it sounds irrational, but I couldn’t stop seeing the part of you that…well…that you normally hide from the world…”

Benedict had not expected this; for her to see so clearly, and with such immediacy, that deep, deep place where dwelled all his insecurities and doubts; that well of secret, dark water that he only drew upon when the role demanded it of him. Yes, there lived a certain sort of unanswerable loneliness there, but it was a gift as well, and he would never wish it any other way, for _all_ that it allowed him to do. “Anni honey,” he managed to ask through his surprise, “…what part of me?”

She lifted her glistening eyes to his again, giving him the very answer he expected, “…a quiet sadness in your soul, Ben, and…and the absolute understanding of such loneliness. Because you’ve been there too. You couldn’t act it so truthfully, unless you had.”

Softened by her empathy, he laid his hand against her cheek, felt the wet of her tears, and replied quietly, “We’ve both been there, baby, haven’t we?”

She nodded vigorously, and Benedict pulled her face close to kiss her softly in understanding. He rested his forehead against hers in the silence that followed, until she felt braced enough to finish her thoughts. She gave that sad, sweet smile that never failed to weaken him, and her truth came tumbling out, all prior hesitation gone, “I swear, Ben, that if I wasn’t already crazy in love with you…I’d fall for certain, just seeing what you revealed of yourself in this role.”

His mouth dropped open, stunned as he was, and thrilled to hear her speak those words at last. “You…you love me?” he asked, and although he’d known it already on the quietest of levels, he’d have her say it again and again and surely never tire of hearing it.

“Of course, I do,” she answered, as though it was a simple matter of fact, drawing herself straight and proud, “You haven’t given me any other choice.” She blinked, looking suddenly dreamy, telling him once more, “I love you to distraction, Benedict--like I’ve never loved _any_ other soul--and with every single breath I take, I love you even more.” Now her tongue had been loosed, she would say it all, “I was living in Winter for so very long, and you brought me Spring.” Anni laughed as she cried, kissing him swiftly and holding his face in her hands, “I was living apart from the world, and you brought me back into it.”

“Anni,” he replied gently, “my sweet, beautiful girl. We’ve—neither of us—any cause to feel that loneliness anymore.” Benedict felt his mouth grow into the crooked smile he knew she adored, circling Anni in his arms while the limo wended them on their way home, “Winter is gone for good—for both of us now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work does not intend to say the real Benedict Cumberbatch carries such a "well of sadness" inside. Certainly I don't know the man at all, and can only speculate about his private self based on his work, his public words & deeds, and what he has expressed time and again of his philosophy. That being said, the point remains that sometimes—often in fact—the world’s greatest Artists carry a core of sadness, of loneliness inside, and it becomes their touchstone for creating & illuminating their artistic visions. In Art & Music, in Literature, and yes, of course, on the Stage & on the Screen--I'm sure you, Kind Reader, can think of a dozen of such with no real effort at all. Why I can even think of a Consulting Detective who wears his solitude like a shield, so only those closest to him can see how sad & lonely he has felt for most of his life! 
> 
> And I know a few in real life, one of whom I'd like to send a little dedication of this chapter to: Sarah, you are a True Artist, who not only channels your hidden sorrow & loneliness into a diversity of works, you embrace it because as much as it might hurt, you understand it is another form of beautiful. It has been my pleasure knowing you (and discovering how very alike we are in some respects ;-) ). Don't ever stop doing the beautiful things you do.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past has a way of catching up with us all, eventually.

Benedict had made a beeline for Anni’s flat, once he’d gotten through Heathrow customs.  As it turned out, he’d actually beaten her home.  Coming through the door, she’d seen his cap and coat hanging on their usual hook in the small entryway, his keys sitting on the little shelf,and his bags set down just outside the living room.  Any one of them would have been cue enough to make her shout his name in surprise and delight, drawing him from the kitchen (where he had meant to make a start of supper, if she had anything substantial to work with in her pantry).  It had been a full week he’d been gone—and his return was a day earlier than she had expected—so that she didn’t give him a moment to take in the sight of her.  Anni simply launched herself in his direction, nearly tackling him, and covered his face with kisses while pressing herself unapologetically against him.  He couldn’t recall any better homecoming in several years, at least.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she murmured between kisses that tasted of tequila and lime.  She told him later she’d had drinks with a couple of friends, although he guessed as much from the flavor it left on her lips and her tongue.  At the moment though, all that mattered was how soft her kisses were; so soft and oh so willing, and telling him immediately, and without a single word, that she wanted something deeper.  And who would he have been to deny his sweet girl what she wanted?

So blissful a reunion left them lying on their backs and holding hands in her dusky bedroom, satiated for the while.  Quiet now, each might have been lost in thought, or even winding down to sleep in the contented afterglow.  Anni exhaled a fulfilled sigh, which he met with a low, gratified rumble of agreement.  Benedict turned onto his side to face her, running a finger lightly along her jawline.  “Hungry?”—for they had skipped dinner yet again. 

Anni purred in her throat, considering his question.  “Surprisingly not.”  She stretched a bit, and the arch of her breasts caught him unprepared, hitting him with a sudden carnal rush to have her once more.  She turned her head to face him, “Parched, though.”  She breathed deeply again, “You?”

He nodded yes, the corners of his mouth quirking into the smallest of smiles, eyes narrowing slightly as he concentrated on the fetching details of her face.  He curled the ends of her hair about his fingers, trying to think of the best name for its deep, rich color.  Anni studied him back, happy appreciation pooling in her eyes.  “Stay right here,” she told him, her voice a little louder than a whisper.

She arose, and Benedict regretted at once her taking the heat of her smooth skin from his side.  He watched jealously while she wrapped a satiny robe about her form, doing the belt so loosely that it barely held the fabric closed.  Anni’s smile spoke a secret sort of wistfulness, telling him she was as loathe to leave him for even a little, as he was to let her go.  “I’ll be right back,” she promised with another sigh.

He turned onto his back again, to stare at the ceiling, ticking off the moments she was gone, impatient in no time for her return.  Deciding not to wait a second more, he sat up, ready to search her out and bring her back to bed.  He knew he was perhaps being ridiculous, and surely not thinking rationally; but he felt a pull towards her, emanating from deep in his chest, that he didn’t care to deny.  It was the best sort of ache that he’d felt in a very long time.

And then Anni was standing in the doorway, surprised to see he’d risen bedside, relishing his nakedness as he drew near.  The sight of him—aroused and heading straight to her—left her dizzy, freezing her in place.  She felt the cold condensation of the half-full water bottle against her fingers, but that sensation faded against the heat growing in her loins.

Anni’s breath had held while he approached her, and she gasped at his decisive touch, when he took the bottle from her to finish it in a few, deep swallows.  Their eyes were locked on one another’s; Benedict backed her slowly against the wall, loosening her sash, leaving her robe to fall open, to finally press all his flesh against hers.  She held him tight around his neck, whispering his name as they began to move as one.

This time they didn’t make it to the bed--and she would confess to him later, in the quiet darkness as sleep at last o’ertook them, that she’d fantasized a time or two, while he’d been gone, of him taking her in just that very way.

* * *

And so passed the autumn days.  Benedict’s schedule intensified with interviews and public appearances as the wide release of  _The Imitation Game_ drew closer.  There was still work to be done on  _Richard III_.  Then there were always potential scripts to read, as his agents negotiated projects for him for the following year, and filming of the  _Sherlock_  special set to begin after the New Year. But during all the in-between times, there was Anni waiting for him, to fill his days with her gentle company and his nights with a passion that seemed boundless.  Benedict knew himself to be one of the luckiest men alive.

He soon learned how Anni had begun to spend her free time when he was away.  In the States again, for a series of interviews and appearances for two of the films he had due out in the fall, he finally reached his hotel room at the end of a long day of travel. Looking forward to sleeping off a bit of jet lag, he’d found an envelope inside his suitcase, placed between his pajamas and his shaving kit.  It wasn’t the first such she’d left him; lately Anni had tucked brief notes for him in his luggage, or the pockets of his trousers and jackets—short but sentimental messages to surprise him while they were apart.  Telling him she missed him, or reminding him she loved him; once she’d even left her lipstick print on a post-it note as a bookmark in the novel he’d been reading.  Just little, unexpected tokens of affection, precious in their simplicity and sincerity.

But she’d never left a full page letter before.  Intrigued, Benedict had sat down on the bed, noticing at once it was scented with her perfume; ah, such a wonderful, old-fashioned gesture!  How like his Anni to leave him an actual love letter, in this age of electronic shorthand…

_“My Dearest Ben,_

_I’ve something to tell you, something so wonderful, that no less than an old-fashioned missive will do.  Written not only because you are the sort of rarified & wonderful man who appreciates the splendor of the written word, but also because you have reawakened my creativity, which had lain hopelessly fallow for too many months.  I had despaired of ever writing effectively again, and so had never expected this gift; of all the sweet things you have brought to my life, I count it as one of the dearest! _

_While you’ve been gone, I’ve begun writing again.  Not much at first—only a few lines a day, and very rusty at that.  But it’s gotten easier as the days pass (and thankfully, distracts me for a while from how keenly  I miss you), and now I’ve real hope that my “great unfinished” play won’t always be so.  Think of that, Ben dear; you’ve done that for me, and without even trying.  You’ve inspired me with your remarkable creativity & dedication as an Artist.  You’ve made me feel cherished & safe, so much so that I’ve grown brave enough to dare this dream again.  And you’ve brought me back to me, my truest self, and no matter where we end up, I will cherish that gift forever. _

_When I’m very lucky—when the stars align just so, and I’ve slipped free of my dullard’s malaise--I may have some small skill with words.  But there are none that I can find to adequately thank you for bringing me back to…Life._

_Love, today and always,_

_Anni"_

He laid back upon the bed, reading the letter several times through, marveling each time at the good fortune that had brought Anni into his life.  The following morning, he slid the envelope into the breast pocket of his jacket, and carried it with him wherever he went, for the duration of his trip.

* * *

 They’d slept in this Saturday morning, a rare treat for Benedict, and he’d made the most of it.  Still, he was awake before Anni; she had turned from his side at some point in the night, and was curled up serenely, holding her pillow close, and was much too peaceful a sight to disturb just yet.  He held dear these little glimpses of her when she was unaware—sleeping so snugly, puttering in the kitchen to fix him a late night snack after a meeting or interview kept him out longer than he expected, surprising her with a lift home from work as she headed for the underground (earbuds tucked tight and singing along to her latest favorite tune, heedless of him idling along the curb, so that he had to sound his horn to get her attention).  All moments to cherish because she was so beautifully herself, and so much more comfortable in her skin than many of the women he had been involved with, moving through her days with winsome and unconscious grace.

Most mornings that they were together, Anni would fix him breakfast, or even just coffee, as time would allow.  Today he planned on treating her--sweets for his sweet--from the bakery down the street, and perhaps they’d catch an early matinee before she had to go to work.  He slipped soundlessly from the warmth of her bed, dressed quickly and headed for the front door, with a lingering backward glance, pleased to see she remained undisturbed.  With any luck, he’d be back before she woke.

Grabbing his keys from the little shelf beside the door, Benedict donned his flat cap and a pair of dark rimmed glasses—a most rudimentary disguise, but one that usually served him well.  He decided it would be quicker to walk, figuring he’d be back with pastry, coffee, and the morning paper in about a half an hour, but the morning air would be brisk enough (there had been a late October frost the night before) for him to need his jacket as well.

He moved smartly on his errand, fast enough perhaps to avoid the recognition that might delay him.  There was the occasional gawker as he passed, but as he often found, if he didn’t give them a lingering chance to put a name to his face, he could move on his way unencumbered.  Waiting in line at the bakery was a challenge, but he kept his focus forward, and met no interruption until he reached the counter.  As the teenaged clerk filled his order, he felt a tug on his sleeve, and turning to the source, he found a boy of about eight looking up at him.  Now that was something unexpected, and he grinned in surprise at the gapped-toothed little face, “Is there something I can do for you, young man?”

The child hesitated a moment, clearly having forgotten his line, then glanced over at his father (Benedict presumed such, anyway) as if for a dose of courage.  The father nodded to the boy, mouthing ‘ _go on then’_ and giving a little flick of his hand to urge him to continue.  “Excuse me, Mr. Cumberman, but my da was hoping you could sign this for me mum.”  He turned back  to see his father’s approving look, and then back to Benedict, handing him the paper napkin clutched in his donut-sticky hand.

Benedict crouched down to be at eye level with the boy, smiling as he pulled a pen from his jacket pocket.  “What’s your name?” he asked, “And what’s your mum’s?”

The boys eyes grew wide, and it seemed he couldn’t recall either his name or his mother’s.  “I’m…Clive,” he finally stuttered, “and…um…Rosalie.”  He smiled as his confidence grew, “Her name is Rosalie.”  He waited a moment, and then added brightly, “Mum  _really_  likes you; she likes your movies and other stuff.”

Benedict chuckled at the boy’s honesty, “Well, Clive, I’ll bet your mum will be very proud of you doing her this little favor.”  The boy waited patiently as he finished up his signature, “And you tell her I’m sorry she wasn’t here today, so I could meet her as well.”  He handed the napkin back to Clive, who muttered his thanks before hurrying back to his dad, waving the napkin prominently.  It read:

_"Dear Rosalie,_

_You son is very charming, and it was a pleasure to meet him.  Best wishes._

_Benedict Cumberbatch"_

He turned back to the clerk, handed over cash for his purchase, then grabbed his coffee and the bag with sweet goods inside.  As he neared the bakery door, he shot a quick look over towards Clive, catching his father’s eye, who gave Benedict a small nod of appreciation.

The walk back to Anni’s was uneventful.  He’d drunk about half his coffee, and his stomach was starting to rumble for something solid, so he increased his pace to get there sooner. He was humming to himself pleasantly by the time he opened her door, looking forward to the leisurely morning in store.

The low sound of conversation reached him from the living room; he thought it was the television, meaning Anni had awoken after all.  He set his purchases on the shelf so he could take off his hat and jacket, noting a man’s harsh voice rising in anger, strident and demanding--on whatever program she was watching.  It disturbed his peaceful contemplation of the hours they had left to spend together before she had to leave for work.  Subconsciously though, he already realized that the quality of sound was too good to be just the television.          

Benedict had never seen a photograph of the prat who had broken Anni’s heart, but as he stepped beneath the lintel of the living room, he recognized him all the same.  This Jeremy was tall and slender, with a mop of undisciplined dirty blonde curls and a jittery manner.  His tone was that of a man spoiling for an argument, with Anni the clear focus of his ire.  There was a privileged arrogance to him that Benedict found beyond off-putting, and not for her sake alone.  The young man before him struck him as an insufferable git, puffed up with ridiculous self-importance, and it made Benedict wonder if she had loved him despite these character flaws, or if these were changes that time and distance from her had wrought. His faith in her good judgment and values favored the later—and if that was the case, he supposed the young man was rather to be pitied than despised, for having so foolishly squandered her freely given heart.

Anni—barefoot and wrapped in her oldest, most comfortable bathrobe--was focused intently on Jeremy as he continued to harangue her, so she hadn’t noticed Benedict quietly standing in the hallway.  She had drawn herself straight and proud, clearly biting her tongue while bidding her time.  The steeliness of her eyes was exactly what Benedict would expect of her.  It stirred in him equal parts love and pride, watching her calmly withstand this buffeting, as he restrained for the moment his natural desire to step in and bodily remove the offending fool.

If Jeremy actually meant an apology—one of the poorest Benedict had ever witnessed—it was negated by his rancor, at turns self-defensive, then accusatory.

When he finally paused to catch his heaving breath, Anni spoke her piece, “There’s nothing more for us to discuss, Jeremy.  You made your choice ages ago.  And it hurt like hell.”  Her eyes blazed, but she remained even-toned, “But I’m more than over it now.  And I am completely… _completely_  over you.”  She closed her eyes and drew a deep, cleansing breath, then looked him squarely in the eyes, “It’s time for you to go.”

“For christ sake, Anni,” he sputtered, shaking with surprise as much as anger, “everyone fucks up sometime!  I can fix this…we can fix this, if you just give me a chance.”  He started towards her, and Anni took a quick couple of steps back.

Benedict could remain silent no longer, “You need to respect her wishes and go.”  He paused to let his presence sink in, the added firmly, “Now.”

Jeremy whipped around to face him, shocked and belligerent, “Who the hell are youto…” trailing off, dumbfounded as he recognized the man standing before him.

For Benedict, this was the easiest of questions to answer; velvet-voiced and resolute, he replied, “Someone who recognizes a great thing when he has one.”  His eyes narrowed as he took Jeremy’s measure, “Who are you?” 

Puffing out his chest as though he expected to receive a badge of honor, Jeremy declared, “Her boyfriend,” glaring at Benedict, surely daring him to prove otherwise.

“Oh, I see.”  He spaced his words like individual jabs at the younger man. “The cheating… violinist… _ex_ -boyfriend.”  Benedict turned his attention from Jeremy, and looked to Anni.  She was smiling the smallest of smiles, but her eyes told the full story.  There was wonder there, and gratitude, and strengthened resolve, and he knew in that moment that she hadn’t  _needed_  him to come to her defense, but it meant the world to her that he had.

Anni cleared her throat, shaking her hair back, her dignity making her look regal.  “There’s no place in my life for you anymore, Jeremy.  It really is time for you to go.”  She was addressing him, but her gaze remained upon Benedict.

Jeremy glanced back and forth between them, realizing he had been dismissed without a care, and that as far as Anni was concerned, it was as though he was no longer there.   “Fucking beautiful, Anni,” he intoned, “I expected better from you.”

And still she didn’t spare him a glance.  Leaving no room for doubt, Benedict reiterated, “As the lady said, it’s time for you to go.”  He cocked his head, waiting to see what form the man’s protest might take.  Jeremy cursed several times, flashed an angry glare at Anni, and then stormed past Benedict, intentionally butting against his shoulder as he passed, on his way to slam the door shut.

It seemed they were both holding their breath in the aftermath, perhaps waiting for the other to be the first to break the silence.  Anni hung her head down, covering her mouth with one hand as though to block an outcry from spilling forth. Benedict started towards her, concern overwhelming him at the sight of her distress, wanting only to hold her close and give the comfort he knew she needed.  There need be no questions yet, he decided; whatever it was, he knew she would tell him in time.  For now he just wanted to shelter her, ease her, and have her lean upon him for however long it took to put the ugly confrontation behind her.

“I’m okay,” she muttered as he took her in his arms. “I’m okay…I really am,” she insisted, her head snug against his neck.  She was shaking, but there were no tears as yet.  He rocked her gently, stroking the back of her head and crooning back, “It’s alright, baby.  I’m here.  I’m here now.”  He strained to think what might be best to do next.

She had slid her arms beneath his, and was holding onto him as tightly as she had ever done.  “I’m okay,” she repeated, then moved back a little to face him directly.  “I just…well, can we just get out of here please?  There’s too many memories here right now, and I can’t think quite clearly.”

“Of course, baby, of course we can.”  Benedict could see some of the tension drain from her face, as she nodded in gratitude.  He walked her over to the sofa, leaving her to sit, “I’m just going to pack of few of your things, okay?  It should only take a couple minutes.”

She looked up at him, managing a smile for his sake, a grateful but tired smile that nearly broke his heart, and shook her head in acceptance of his suggestion.  He pressed his lips to the back of her hand, lingering before her with his eyes squeezed shut, then hurried to complete his task, regretful to leave her at all.

Her empty rucksack hung on the knob of her closet door, and he made quick work of it, packing enough clothes for the weekend, undergarments, and a few of her toiletries that he didn’t have at his place already.  He paused a bit when it came to her uniform; with the morning’s events, perhaps she’d not want to go into work.  In fact, he’d prefer that she didn’t, but he could not presume that for her; instead he found a garment bag in the closet, hung her uniform blouse and trousers inside, then added her shoes to the bottom.

Benedict left her bags sitting in the hallway.  He found Anni still sitting mutely, much as he had left her.  It hurt him to see her so, but he knew the sooner they were out of her flat, the easier it would be on her.  He knelt down in front of her and placed a comforting hand upon her cheek.  “Do you want to change before we go?”

“Uh-huh,” she answered, trying again to smile.  To smile for him, of course, despite the heartache etched on her features.  Anni rose and left the room without another word.  He followed her, to wait near the door.

She returned quickly; he saw she had pulled her hair into a ponytail, and wore one of his faded chambray shirts—that charming little habit she had of making off with pieces of his wardrobe never dearer to him than now.  Anni looked up at him, brushing her fingertips through the hair along his brow, and breathed deeply, "You're a good man, Ben.  The finest."  She shook her head slightly, then pressed her lips together, still fighting the tears, "I don't know how I got lucky enough to have you in my life, but I know that I've been truly blessed." She laid a single, velvet kiss upon his cheek, "Bear with me just a little longer, and I'll tell you...everything."  She slung her rucksack over her shoulder, and then moved to grab her coat and handbag from their place near her door.  She stood before it a moment more, her back and shoulders held straight and determined, and left her flat without a single look back.

_(to be continued)_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anni's secret finally revealed. You may want to grab some tissues...

There was very little conversation throughout the drive to Benedict’s flat, but he held Anni’s hand when she reached for him, and cast his eyes her way whenever he had the chance.  She seemed calm; she was quiet; and above all, she was sad, in a way he’d never seen before.  It put him in mind of those transitory moments when he’d seen an unknown grief in the depths of her blue eyes, and fleeting hints of sorrow in the set of her smile—but multiplied tenfold.  He hoped that what he had to offer her in way of love and comfort would be enough to vanquish it.

Once inside, Anni passed listlessly through the kitchen, not really noticing the things around her, clearly lost in whatever troubling memories Jeremy’s arrival had stirred.  Benedict followed behind her, halting at the entry to the living room, before leaving her rucksack and garment bag at the bottom of the stairs.  He then joined her on the sofa, as he softly asked her, “Can I fix you something to eat?”  His own hunger pangs had faded when he’d returned to her flat and discovered the nasty surprise there.

Anni had her arms folded cross her chest, holding tight as though she was cold and needed warmth. She shook her head, with a barely audible sound that meant ‘no’; she was staring in front of her, but he was certain she was seeing nothing—in this room, anyway. It worried Benedict to see her so distressed, as he considered what was best to say. “Anni,” he began, placing a comforting hand between her shoulder blades, feeling the tension there, rubbing lightly to soothe her, “I realize you might not be ready to talk about this, but I want you to know I...” He gave a huff of breath, still at a loss for how to proceed, “it’s alright, take whatever time you need.”  

Anni looked down, squeezing her eyes shut and breathing raggedly. “I’m okay,” she told him quietly again, “he just took me by surprise.” She raised her eyes to his, and though there was still sadness there, he saw her already trying to put it behind her.

“Tell me, don’t tell me,” he continued, solicitous and anxious for her sake, “whatever you need right now.” She nodded a soft acknowledgement, and so he went on, “I’ve known for some time that there’s a shadow of sorts in your past, and I’ve just been waiting for when you might be ready to talk about it.” Anni’s eyes had filled with quiet tears, and as he spoke, they began to spill. She quickly started to wipe them away. “However long you need, honey. Just so you know you don’t have to bear whatever it is, alone.”

She drew a shuddering breath, then gave him a bittersweet smile. “I want to tell you, Ben. I really, _really_ do.” Anni closed her eyes again, and when she opened them, they looked clearer, calmer, than they had since her confrontation with Jeremy. “I just need to get my thoughts together…before I can talk about it.”

Benedict nodded, patient with understanding. Her posture had softened and he wanted nothing more in the world then to wrap her in his arms, but it was more important to do what she wanted. “What I’d like to do, if it’s alright,” she told him, “is take a steaming hot shower and figure out exactly how to tell you these things.”

“Of course,” he responded, moving both hands to rest on her shoulders, “I’m not going anywhere. Take all the time you need.”

Her deep sigh spoke her relief, and she leaned close to kiss his cheek, lingering moments afterwards, gripping the material of his shirt in her hand as though she didn’t want to part from him. It felt like she was struggling not to break, leaving him to feel impotent to make things right for her. At last Anni rose, no further words spoken, and made her way up the stairs, to do what she needed most.

Benedict got up and paced the room, his mind replaying the scene in her flat again and again as he searched for clues to the rest of the story that Anni had promised him. They had, in due time, shared their own stories; past loves and relationships, that baggage that people carry into the next, hoping to avoid making the same mistakes, hoping to get it all right this time. So he’d known about Jeremy and of their promises to one another, and how he’d left London for Turin, Italy, to take a seat with the Orchestra Filarmonica di Torino. Anni had been in the midst of working towards her Master’s Degree, so there was no question that she stay behind, and both had believed they could manage a long-distance relationship.

Jeremy had proven that wrong in very short order, breaking their trust and her heart altogether. Anni had tried to carry on, focusing on her studies, but within a several months had dropped out of the Master’s program. It had perplexed Benedict to learn she had lost her will to continue pursuing that degree, contradicting what he had learned of her; her resilience was one of her finest qualities, and although there was certainly heartbreak, she had always given him the impression that she was made of stronger stuff. Instead, he had sensed there was more to the story, but he had held back his questions, figuring that she would tell him the more when it needed telling, or when she felt secure enough in their relationship that it would soften any judgment he might make.

His pacing had brought him repeatedly nearer the base of the staircase, straining to hear any sounds that might indicate how Anni was doing. Twenty minutes in, and still the shower was running, and his unease was growing. Concern finally overruled his intentions, and he grabbed her rucksack from the base of the stairs—it would provide a handy excuse to be in his bedroom--taking two steps at a time to the second floor.

Leaving her bag on the bed, Benedict stood outside the bathroom door. There was no mistaking the sobbing coming from the other side. His immediate impulse was to go to her, but he bit it back, certain Anni had chosen to cry those painful tears in privacy. It took a huge effort for him to even move away from the door, let alone the room.

Anni joined him in the living room about a half-hour later. Benedict had been trying to read the newspaper, but the effort had been pointless, as he hadn’t absorbed a word and remained stuck on the same article for a third go round. She was wearing his heavy velour bathrobe, much too big for her, so that it enveloped her entirely, making her look younger than her years. Her face was brighter and her skin looked scrubbed fresh, but her eyes were red and tired looking. It made his heart ache anew, for the pain they held.

“Could I have some juice, or something?” she asked, trying her best to sound cheerful.

He nodded, “Right quick,” happy to do at least one small thing she needed.

When he returned from the kitchen, he found she had settled back against the sofa cushion, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Anni smiled to see him, reaching a hand towards him for the glass, and thanking him before drinking deeply.

He took his place beside her, “So—any better?” Just needing to touch her and wanting to give comfort of some sort, he tucked her wet hair behind her ear, and then rested his hand on her shoulder.

“Much,” she replied, pressing her hand—still wonderfully warm from the shower—atop his. She bit her lip, ready to begin. He took the glass from her, placing it on the low table in front of them.

Anni opened her mouth to speak, then furrowed her forehead, resolving at last how to start her story. “I was half-awake when he knocked on the door. I thought it was you, figured maybe you’d gone out but had forgotten the key.” She arched a brow with just the hint of his mischief Anni about it, “I was ready to give you a tongue lashing for that.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the thought, “Duly noted, dear.” He grew serious again, needing her to know, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to answer it myself. He never would have made it past the threshold if I had been.”

Anni looked down, her voice cracking just a moment, before she mastered the tears that seemed to want to fall again. “I don’t doubt that at all, Ben.” She raised her tired eyes to his, holding his gaze while she drew a deep breath, seeming to draw strength not just from within, but from the steadiness he hoped she saw in his own eyes. She nodded slightly, and then began.

“We’d been together nearly three years; living together really, for all intents and purposes. And things were good—really good.” Anni paused as she immersed herself in the memories. “I’d gotten my B.A. and would be starting on my Master’s in the fall term. Jeremy had been out of university a year, teaching privately and working odd jobs to make up the difference.” She smiled a little in recollection, “He was happiest when he was teaching, but dissatisfied anyway. He didn’t want to only teach; he wanted to do. To make music. You know how that is…” Benedict nodded; of course he knew—that special hunger shared by all artists, but most especially by those on the cusp of possibilities; to put their passion to work, to feed their inner flame, to show the world their skill and worth. To prove to themself and to the world that the course they’d selected was a true one.

Anni sighed, satisfied that he understood exactly what she meant. “So he was auditioning when he could, wherever he could. The auditions were taking him farther and farther away, and it was pretty clear if he was going to do the work he wanted, it wasn’t going to be here.” She tilted her head and gave a little shrug, “And I was prepared for what might come next. We both were.”

Benedict took her hand with a gentle squeeze, resting it on her lap, to encourage her to continue, “And he found what he was looking for in Italy.”

“Yes,” she answered with a tired sigh, “as far away as that.” Her wee smile was resigned and sad, “Jeremy was thrilled, and I was ready for him to go without me. We figured it would only be a couple years apart at most, and that we’d still have a chance to see each other several times a year. I’d stay here and get my Masters, and he could keep an eye out for opportunities closer to home. In the end, we just _knew_ we’d be together again _and_ both of us would have the careers we wanted.” Anni rolled her eyes, looking rueful, “Naïve, right?”

“Not at all,” he answered gently, “when you’re young and in love, you feel you can conquer the world. And that’s never a bad thing, honey.” He raised a hand to softly stroke her cheek.

She closed her eyes, resting her cheek against his hand in response, taking the comfort he so wanted to give her. Anni hummed quietly, relaxing at his tender touch, and when she opened her eyes again, she looked glad for his empathy. “Young and…foolish,” she reiterated, “And in love. A ridiculous cliché, I suppose.”

“No, sweetheart, not at all.” Benedict felt himself begin to choke up, moved by the sadness and regret in her voice, “Beautiful and honest, and wonderfully hopeful. I wouldn’t expect any less from your good heart.”

Anni moved her head slightly, to be able to press a light kiss upon his palm, and then looked back to him, “You’re too good to me, Ben.” A small smile graced her mouth, “But you mustn’t ever stop, okay? I’ve come to rely on you, you know.”

“You can count on me, Anni. Always,” he pledged without hesitation, “I swear on my soul.”

And perhaps that was all she needed to finish her tale, for her smile grew fuller for just a moment, with a warmth that was just for him, before she carried on. “A few weeks before he left, we took a holiday on the Italian Riviera.” Anni huffed softly in remembrance, “God, Ben, it was beautiful; the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. And…very romantic…if…if you know what I mean.”

He nodded in agreement, trying not to picture her in Jeremy’s arms, under moon and stars on a deserted beach. It could be very romantic, he allowed, especially with the one you love at your side.

“And…um…well…” Anni was stumbling a bit over her words, looking awkward and unsure of how to go on, “In the rush of the end of term, and helping Jeremy prepare for his move, and getting ready for our trip, I…um…” Anni swallowed hard, now looking ashamed, “I forgot to renew my prescription, so I…uh…missed several days.” She bowed her head, as though reluctant to see his reaction. “We were careful, though; I swear we were—we used condoms. The whole time we were there.”

Benedict’s thoughts raced ahead of her story, quickly leading him to guess what she was to say next. Anni shook her head in denial of his assumption, “It wasn’t in Italy, but it was a few weeks later. Right before Jeremy left. I’m pretty sure, anyway.” She pressed her lips tight, the crux of her story having arrived, “It was the gap in taking the pills, you see.” She looked to him for understanding, “Interrupted my cycle enough so…you know…”   She blushed and looked down at her hands, now twisting and restless in her lap, her words spilling out in a rush of embarrassment, “Stupid, really. In the end, it was just stupid carelessness.”

Anni took several moments before going on, finally meeting his eyes to tell him plainly, “I shouldn’t have been surprised when I was late. But by then, we’d broken it off and I didn’t want to have anything to do with him ever again.” Although Benedict wouldn’t blame her if she’d sounded bitter, there was only a trace of it in her voice as she continued, “There was no question about telling Jeremy _anything_. He’d lost that right when he decided that what we had wasn’t even worth a month’s celibacy.”

“That’s putting it too kindly, Anni” he said, “He was an absolute ass to throw your love away so carelessly.” Benedict leaned in closer to her, his voice at its most soothing, “No one with any sense would blame you for whatever you decided.”

She closed her eyes and bowed her head again, her whole posture relaxing in relief at his reaction. Had she really feared he would think any less of her for this? That she felt such shame made his heart ache for her--and all the hesitance she’d shown in those early weeks, to trust in his intentions, made sense at last. It made him want to right every wrong her heart had ever suffered.  

He settled with pulling her against him, so that she laid her head upon his shoulder, while he waited for her to reveal what happened next.

Anni sighed deeply and audibly, from the depths of a heart released from a burdensome secret. “I didn’t tell anyone in those first few weeks; I didn’t want to take a chance word might get back to Jeremy. He’d made his choice, and I couldn’t see any way of going back.” Her voice grew stronger as she spoke of her resolve, “I thought long and hard before deciding what to do. Whatever I chose, it would all be on me.” She nodded against him, affirming her choice, “And I couldn’t take the easy path. I just couldn’t. It didn’t seem fair…” She lifted her head from his shoulder and tilted her face to gaze at him squarely, “It wasn’t the baby’s fault that Jeremy had turned into such a shit. And so…and so…I decided I’d have her. I decided I’d keep her.”

Looking in her eyes, her sweet, honest eyes, Benedict felt his love for her—and his pride in her—fill his chest to nearly bursting. He had told her once that she was his pearl of great price, and there was no more fitting testament than this. But he knew there had to be more to her story, for there was no child in her life now, and the answer was painfully obvious from the sorrow on her face. He prompted her gently, “And so you went back to uni, but things didn’t go as you hoped.”

Her tears were back, tears of grief and loss, and he understood them perfectly. “I was determined I could do this. I could raise the baby on my own _and_ still get my degree. And no one could tell me otherwise.” She shrugged, acknowledging how helpless she’d been to follow her plan, “Everything was fine. There was the morning sickness of course, and I was so tired those first couple of months that a lot of nights I just fell asleep on the sofa when I got home from class, or from work. But I reckoned she was worth _every_ single moment of discomfort.” Anni reached for, then finished the glass of juice; Benedict took the empty glass from her, and then she continued, “Everything was fine, all my exams were normal, there was nothing unusual to warn of something going wrong.”

Anni paused much longer now, her face grown pale as the painful memories came back to life, “I was nearly eighteen weeks along.” She pulled a wad of tissues from the pocket of his robe, sniffled several times and wiped her nose, then breathed deeply again and asked him, “Do you know why they call the second trimester the ‘golden trimester?’ Because most of the uncomfortable symptoms of pregnancy fade for a time.” Anni looked down at her hand, fidgeting with the damp tissues, and gathered her courage to say the worst of it all. When she raised her face back to him, Benedict wished he could kiss each tear away, and soften the tremble of her lips with his own. “And because it’s the trimester when a woman is least likely to miscarry.” And there it was; she had said the word, and he felt her grief as though it was his very own.

“November 17th. It was a Monday afternoon.” Anni’s red-rimmed eyes had taken on a faraway look as she relived the ordeal in her mind, “I was working on a term paper in university library. And I started to cramp really badly. Far worse than anything I’d ever had with my monthlies—so I knew right away it wasn’t good. I didn’t hesitate,” she shook her head, perhaps to negate any guilt she might feel that she didn’t act quickly enough, “I went straight to hospital. By the time I got there, I’d started to bleed…” She gripped the folds of her robe, white-knuckled, “…jesus, it feels like only yesterday, and not nearly a year ago…”

Anni’s voice cracked, but she shook it off, determined to finish, “And then I was passing clots, and they tried their best to stop it…but I could see on their faces, even before they said it, that there really wasn’t any hope.”

“Oh god,” he murmured, taking her free hand in his, “I’m so sorry, honey.” And because there was little else he _could_ say that might serve to ease her pain, Benedict pulled her close again, wrapping her tight in his arms. Her damp hair wet his skin and collar, but all that mattered to him was warming her and consoling her, and feeling her grieving heart beat against his. Safe in his embrace, Anni let herself go at last, sobbing hard as he whispered words of comfort, beginning to cry himself.

It was several minutes until her tears subsided; thus calmed, she shifted in his arms, to face him while she finished her story, “When there wasn’t any sign of life, they still needed to induce labor…for my health and safety…and in just those few hours, she was… gone. My little companion and hope for the future.” Anni looked worn out now, drained and ready to rest, if it were even possible. “The doctor told me it wasn’t anything I had done, that it was likely a chromosomal abnormality in the baby that caused the miscarriage. And that it likely didn’t mean I’d have a problem carrying a child to term in the future, but I’d require closer monitoring when the time came.” Her voice filled with irony, “As he said…I’m young and healthy and there was no physical impediment to cause the loss. He suggested an autopsy to answer any questions I might have, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t do that to her little body.”

“Then it _was_ a girl?” he asked gently.

Anni nodded, answering with a bittersweet smile, “Uh-huh. I named her Hope. They even gave me a birth certificate. Hope Grayson, ‘ _born without signs of life before_ _twenty-four weeks’_. And her wee footprints on a little card.” She sniffed back another round of tears. “They’re so tiny, Ben! Tiny, but perfection in miniature. I’ll show them to you sometime.” She drew a shuddering breath, and wiped the tears from her cheeks with both hands.

Benedict kissed her forehead, lingering a moment before replying, “I’d very much like to see them, Anni.”

The look of gratitude she gave him renewed his ache to be the answer to her every need. “The grief counselor at hospital arranged for a private funeral service in the chapel. Everything happened so fast, and I was incredibly numb from the shock of it. And from the meds they gave me.” Anni sighed wearily, “It felt like I was just being swept along. Like I was watching from outside myself at times. And as kind as everyone was, I kept wanting to ask if they understood, _really_ understood, that nothing— _nothing_ —would ever make the loss of her unique little life, that had been waiting to be known and to be loved, any easier to bear.” She exhaled and laid her head against him again, her confession complete with her last words of longing and regret, “I never even got to feel her kick. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her at some point. And I suppose I always will."

* * *

 

Benedict had been ready to insist that Anni ring out sick, expecting her to stubbornly maintain she was up to going in to work, but she had quietly agreed it was best to follow his advice. Emotionally exhausted from her confrontation with Jeremy and from revisiting her tragic loss, and lovingly sheltered in Benedict’s arms, Anni eventually slipped into the untroubled sanctuary of sleep.

Once he was certain she was sleeping soundly, he eased her out of his arms, resting her head on a throw pillow and tucking a light blanket around her. She stirred softly as he moved her, but only for a moment, freeing him to consider what he might do in the hours and days ahead to best give Anni the support and comfort that she needed and deserved. He hoped that sharing her sad story would be the beginning of healing for her, in some small way at least—and that whatever might come next, he would be her refuge and solace.

Later, when she’d woken refreshed, he was relieved to see her greet him with brighter eyes and her usual honest, ready smile. They dined in his kitchen on Italian takeaway; while she slept, he’d ordered her favorite dishes from a restaurant they had enjoyed several times, and Anni ate with a healthier appetite than he’d expected. Her softness was still sorrow-tinged, but she was able to laugh lightly as well--the exact music needed to tell him her spirit remained unbroken.

Of course, they found their way back to his bedroom as the evening drew nigh, for Anni was not shy in seeking the comfort to be found there. With the golden, late afternoon, October sunshine streaming through the gauzy curtains of his bedroom windows, warming both the room and their eager flesh, Benedict made love to her with a sacred tenderness that reawakened her joy, reaffirming their bond and leaving it grown deeper than ever. Afterwards, she clung to him in the gloaming, entirely content, while pressing random kisses on his skin.

He spoke of his resolve to cure the wounds that dwelt so deep within her heart. “You’re going to heal me, are you?” she teased him softly, her hint of sass enough to show he had made a start of it already.

He cupped her cheek in his hand, stroking her skin gingerly with his thumb, “You’re my home now, Anni. My home, my temple, my touchstone,” Benedict slid his fingers into her hair, moving in to kiss her brow. “I will do whatever I can to ease your mind and heart. Trust in that, honey.  

“Oh, my love, I do; I do with all I am. For you already have.” She blinked slowly, her eyes fixed upon his, “You must _know_ that the pain _he_ caused is gone away. For good and forever, since _you’ve_ come into my life.” Her breath so close, was like a gentle caress on his skin, “But the loss? Oh my darling, that will _always_ be there…and for that, there is no cure. But there is comfort; wondrous comfort here with you.” Anni’s quiet wisdom left him speechless, while she continued, “The grief will never die, it is a part of who I am now—but oh, how much easier it is to bear, how much less the sting of it, now you’re here and loving me.” Mirroring him, she laid her palm against his cheek, telling him finally, and with the sweetest conviction, “Nothing in the world has ever equaled the simple gift of being loved by you."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's taken quite a while to get to this point in their story, but Anni's miscarriage was part of her story arc from nearly the beginning. As I finally got to the business of writing it, I found myself thinking of the women in my life who have gone through the same. I was younger in those days, and could not understand how painful, how devastating it could be. Writing it through Anni's eyes, I suppose is the closest (thankfully) that I can come to experiencing it myself--and let me tell you, I felt it strongly. And though I would never want to reawaken their painful memories, I honor those women I've known who've lived it, and send them my love and kindest regard.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fleeting period of quiet, homey bliss--all too brief, for there are troubles coming down the road.

A crucial question had been on Benedict’s mind for a couple of weeks, and he’d been waiting patiently for the right moment to present itself before finally asking Anni. Jeremy’s surprise return, and all the painful memories it stirred for her, had made his need to ask it more pressing than ever. But he knew well Anni’s stubborn streak, and how insistent she could be about maintaining her independence, especially for his sake—for in all things, she desired most that he trust her love for him had no basis in his fame or financial success. That she was so scrupulous about not taking any sort of advantage of all that he could easily provide for her only made him want to give her whatever she might want, and anything that she could possibly need, all the more.

She had risen that morning, bright once again, well rested from a quiet night in his arms, and ready to move forward with everyday life as though the heartbreak she’d relived the day before was a distant shadow. Benedict would have preferred to keep Anni close, and spoil her in dozens of little ways, but he knew she’d want to carry on with her normal routines instead, and so he drove her across town for her Sunday brunch shift, resolving that before evening rolled around, he would finally broach the question with her.

In the meantime, he had some reading to do for a radio project that was scheduled for early spring, and sides for _Richard III_ to go over in preparation for upcoming shoots. With that work squared away, Benedict spent the early afternoon online, reading up on the long term physical and emotional effects of miscarriages and stillborn births, hoping to find the best way he could help Anni to continue healing. And all the while, the question he planned to ask her remained in his thoughts, as he continued to consider the best way to win her over—until he realized the thing that had made it ever more vital to ask, was also the means to nearly insuring her agreement. He picked her up from work, eager to return home and set his plan in motion.

“Anni, honey,” he started at last, striving to sound low key and casual as they cleared away the dishes from their late lunch, “I need to ask you to do something for me…”

She glanced his way, smiling vibrantly, before drying the last plate and sliding it into its home cabinet, “Yes?” Anni appeared relaxed and a little amused. Benedict came up beside her, took the dishtowel from her hand to lay it on the countertop, and then rested a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him squarely, “I need you to hear me out. And…” he smiled a little himself, anticipating her response already, “…and bite your tongue for just a little while, because I know exactly what your first response is going to be.”

She hesitated a moment, still smiling but looking a little puzzled. “Okayyyy…” she softened her voice to a stage whisper, teasing him impishly, “Is it something serious?”

“Not too serious, honey.” Benedict replied. Anni’s playful manner presented a pleasant distraction from his purpose, making him take a deep breath and refocus on his request, “It’s just that I’d like you to stay here while I’m out of town these next few weeks…” Anni opened her mouth—looking to interrupt him precisely as he expected her to—but he raised a hang to beg her patience just a little more. “I know what you’re thinking, Anni, but please just hear me out.”

She sighed, smirking slightly, conceding for the moment—but her eyes conveyed a spark of skepticism. Still, it was opening enough for him present his case. “I know you won’t do this for yourself,” he told her patiently, “but I need you to do this for _me_. Because…well…I need to know you’re safe while I’m gone. I need to know you’re okay, that there won’t be some arrogant bugger disturbing the peace or stirring up really bad memories…”

“Benedict, really…” she countered, unable to remain silent, her stubbornness roused, “I _can_ take care of myself, you know. I don’t need to be protected, or put up on some shelf for safe-keeping.”

“I _know_ you don’t need it. But _I_ do.” He moved in a little closer, hoping she could feel the strength of his concerns. “If I’m going to do my job properly, I need to know you’re not being harassed. I need to know you can’t be touched, and that all will be well…”

Her shoulders slumped a little, as though she knew this was a campaign she had already lost—and so Benedict was quick to press his advantage. “This is important to me, love,” he told her gently, “and in no way is it taking advantage of me, I assure you.”

Anni pursed her lips, rolling her eyes heavenward, then shook her head, “As if I could actually refuse you anything, Ben.” She paused a moment more, then sighed her defeat. “Alright then—but _only_ when you are away, okay? And only for _your_ peace of mind.” She raised her chin proudly, though there was a lovely softness in her eyes that told him that she wasn’t entirely put out by his request, “Because I assure you, Benedict Timothy Carlton Cumberbatch, that I am _fully_ capable of handling Jeremy, or any other ‘arrogant bugger’ that might decide to cause me a headache.”

He took her by both shoulders, smiling broadly and bending his face close, “I have no doubt at all about that, Anni. But I’ll be far happier if the need for you to do so didn’t present itself while I’m away.” Benedict brushed his lips across her brow, satisfied and surprised at how little fuss it had taken to secure Anni’s cooperation. “Now that’s settled, what do you say about treating ourselves to a bit of dessert?”

Anni purred a bit, from the deep of her throat, and twined both arms around his neck. “It depends on what you have in mind, darling.” She pressed a moist kiss beneath his ear, the warmth of her breath raising the sensitive hairs on his neck. “Although I’m sure we can find something delicious, that will satisfy us both.”

* * *

Of course, it hadn’t taken very long for Anni to allow herself to settle in as a part time housemate. And there really wasn’t much difference from the other times she’d spent the night at his flat, except she was even more fastidious about household maintenance than those times she’d simply stayed the night (or two or three). His plants were watered on a regular basis; not a dish was left in the sink or dishwasher; and she was swift in taking care of both their laundries. Anni made sure there were always fresh towels in the bathroom, and stocked his pantry well enough so that they needn’t resort to takeaway quite so often. It was a bit of a fantasy come true for Benedict, as it turned out--an oasis of quiet homey comforts that he’d been longing for more and more as his professional life left him so little time for such simple pleasures. Was she aware how deeply she was embedding herself in his life, in his heart? He hoped she was, for this was a life he could get used to with no effort whatsoever.

As the release of _The Imitation Game_ in the States drew closer, Benedict’s schedule was ramping up into overdrive. He’d be in the America far more often, and for longer periods, as the year drew to a close. He would have loved to bring Anni along on one of his trips, but she was steadfast in shying away from the whirlwind, still wishing to prevent her presence in his life from becoming an unnecessary distraction on the public stage. Yet she fully embraced enjoying his experiences vicariously, as he shared his thoughts and impressions in late night calls and skype sessions, sending pictures when he could, and texting her when the spare moment allowed.

When back in London, there was still plenty to keep him busy, but Anni kept her own days filled, so that Benedict never felt for a moment like he was neglecting her. Outside of work, she spent much of her free time working on her play; when he asked how it was going, she replied with a pleased grin or a peck on the cheek, reminding him a time or two it was all very well, thanks to the inspiration of the most amazing—and damnably sexy—Muse that had found her when she’d least expected it.

Early November had him working on location again for _The Hollow Crown_ series, and he’d taken Anni along with him for once, for a quick overnight when her work schedule afforded them the opportunity. Shooting outdoors could often be a challenge, especially as colder weather settled in for the season, but she was fascinated by the process, and despite the cold and damp, was thrilled at the chance to see him at work. Later that evening, Benedict was equally thrilled to bring her along for dinner and drinks with some of his cast mates at a local pub. It was the happy first of many quiet, gradual introductions he hoped to make of her, among his friends and colleagues.

One morning, just a week shy of his departure for America for the New York premiere of _The Imitation Game_ , he was up and out the door early, and headed over to BBC studios to re-record some dialogue for _Richard III_ that had to be discarded due to high winds that had been at play during that day’s shooting. Regretfully, he had left Anni snugged down and sleeping warmly—on _his_ side of the bed—on what otherwise might be a perfectly lazy day to spend together. He loved his work, thrived on it, in fact--of that there was never any question—but she had clearly become the sweetest temptation he’d ever had to play truant. It was a contradictory sort of happiness that he had been convinced, in the past few years, was never going to come his way.

Benedict came home that afternoon to find Anni dancing in his kitchen; she had her i-pod plugged into the docking station, and was blasting the soundtrack to _Mama Mia!_ , singing the way people do when they think no one sees them: full-voiced and unapologetic. He adored seeing her that way, so at ease in his living space—reminding him again that the time was swift approaching when he would ask her to make a more permanent commitment to this arrangement. _Baby steps_ , he told himself once again. _And keep your_ _eagerness in check a while yet; that’s what is best for the both of us_.

Her long, dark tresses were gathered up in a sloppy bun of sorts, their care clearly not having been her top priority when she had risen for the day. But their haphazardness suited the happy way she danced around the room, and that made him smile all the more. She was wearing one of his old shirts, a pink and lavender plaid that suited her happy mood—dusted with flour from whatever baking project she’d undertaken—over a pair of old, worn boxer shorts ( _those_ , he chided himself, _should have been tossed long ago_ ; she must have found them at the forgotten bottom of his pants drawer; yet they looked quite dear on her as she took a twirl about the room). He could see her bare feet had tracked the flour in several places across the kitchen floor as well, but that was surely accounted for by the exuberance of her dance.

A full two minutes passed before Anni saw him there, and it was only a break in the music that made the difference. She held the last note of the current tune ( _her voice really_ _isn’t half bad at all, he thought in amusement_ ), her eyes closed in concentration. Benedict cleared his throat, just to announce himself, and when she opened them and saw his face, she immediately looked sheepish, as though she had been caught at something naughty. He found himself wondering—wishing too—that all the undiscovered moments that lay ahead for them would hold the same, sweet charm.

After quickly turning down to the volume on her i-pod, she turned back to face him, still looking a little abashed. “I baked you a tart,” she blurted out, meaning it to be an explanation for the mess she thought she looked, and the mess she had made of the kitchen.

"Oh?" Now that she mentioned it, he realized he smelled cinnamon and other sweet things on the air, making him ponder that were he to kiss her neck, if that would be the scent to greet him, and how pleasant her skin might taste. "What kind?"

"Caramel apple. I got a little bored, missing you." There was only the hint of a pout in her voice, but enough to make his heart glad that she still looked forward to his return, as much—and even more--as in their early weeks together. "So, I went to Parliament Hill Farmer’s Market, and they had the loveliest, juiciest looking Bramleys, and I thought, well, that might be a nice surprise."

She came to stand before him as she spoke, ending by circling her arms about his neck. "How would you like it," she asked him saucily, "a la mode or with clotted cream? I prefer the ice cream, myself, especially as the tart’s still warm…"

"Tart later, perhaps," he replied, before kissing the end of her nose, which bore its share of flour as well. "There’s other sweets need sampling first, don’t you think?"

Anni’s eyes went very wide, and soft with happy expectation, as she stood on her toes to kiss his parted lips. When he finally did savor the delicate skin of her neck, he found as he’d expected; that the simplest of moments were indeed the very sweetest.

* * *

Sunday afternoon, and despite the November dreariness outside—cold rain that could sink into the bones and chill one to the core—Anni was comfortable and toasty warm, nestled on one end of the sofa, typing away on her compact notebook. The fire Benedict had kindled in the hearth crackled soothingly, casting a cozy glow and throwing off a drowsy heat, enough to fend off any chill. He was reclined on the other end of the couch, reading the Sunday Times, his long legs stretched out and taking up more space than was fair, but Anni didn’t mind a bit—for his bare feet were the perfect invitation for an ongoing game of footsie.

He had remained mostly dispassionate about her little game, seeming completely absorbed in the editorial pages, only flicking down a corner of the paper to shoot her a stern glare from time to time, then returning to hide behind his pages. This only served to encourage, rather than deter her, even when the glare came with an arched brow and his lips tightly pursed. That made her giggle and swiftly shift her attention back to her laptop screen, certain he was fully engaged, leaving her to simply wait on his next move.

Yet it didn’t come. A little disappointed, Anni fell back into Act II, tweaking and refining the previous day’s work. All her playfulness was banked, and soon she lost track of time as the world of her imagination took further shape upon the bright screen. She put the finishing touches on a bit of dialogue, then leaned her head back and stretched her arms with a satisfied yawn—how good it felt, to have found her creative flow again!

The quiet of the room was undisturbed except for the blaze of the fire in the hearth, and Anni finally looked over to Benedict again, thinking his silence meant he had nodded off behind his newspaper. Instead, she found him gazing her way, the faint smile lines beside his eyes and mouth taking her breath away, as they so often did; she couldn’t help but smile back, her heart skipping a little with the happiness of knowing this was the look of a man purely in love. Remarkably, and against all odds, in love with _her_.

“What?” she asked, the joy in her voice undisguised.

“It’s nearly perfect, isn’t it?” he replied, blinking slowly and breathing deeply.

Disarmed for a moment by the intensity of his regard, and weakened in the best way--the way he so often made her feel—Anni looked down at the laptop screen, wondering what he might mean. “What is?” she nearly squeaked, raising her eyes back to his, and biting her lip as she hung upon his response.

“This,” he told her softly, motioning with a sweep of his hand to the room and then to her, “This is. All of this. This moment. You. Here with me, as though it was meant to be all along.” Benedict paused, watching her carefully, finally adding, “Us.”

Now Anni felt her heart speed from more than wonder; there was a tone to his voice that was entirely unexpected, a softness in his unwavering gaze that sent a thrill of anticipation from the top of her head, down her spine, even to the tips of her toes. “Yes,” she finally managed, trying her best to sound composed, but breathless nonetheless, “I guess it is. The closest thing to perfect that _I've_ ever known, anyway.” It dawned on her where this conversation might be leading—and it was a path for which she was wholly unprepared.

“You know,” he said, swinging his legs off the sofa and sliding closer to her, “I’ve been waiting a long time to feel this way. I had started to believe I couldn’t have such amazing professional success _and_ someone to share the journey with. And then _you_ came, out of the blue…beautifully…unexpectedly…and filled my life with all the things I’d sworn had passed me by.” His tone and manner were thoughtful and cautious, anticipating the skittishness that she was prone to, about this sort of conversation.

Anni remained silent, spellbound as he gently placed her legs across his lap, his touch beginning to melt her fear of what might be coming next. She leaned her head against the sofa, her eyes fixed on his while he continued, “I never expected to feel this content—this completely happy—with _anyone_ , so quickly. And like everything has finally fallen into place for me…” He paused, looking down while his fingertips traced a soothing circle around her knee, then looked her way again, “For me…and I’d like to think, for _us_.”

She nodded, breathing out a soft ‘ _uh-huh_ ’, mesmerized by the tenderness of his touch and voice, by the warmth and simple beauty of his lop-sided smile.

“Anni, you probably can’t see all the little ways you’ve made my life even better than it already was. The dozens of things you do every day that we’re together, without even realizing how deeply they’ve embedded you in my heart.” Benedict placed a hand over his heart as though in testament to this. “And I can’t see a single day down the road when I don’t want to be completely tangled up in you.”

Her own heart had begun to pound in her chest like some small, desperate creature seeking to be freed from its cage, yet Anni felt frozen in place. It was one thing to daydream about a someday when the man you held dearer than any other in your life professed such things to you; it was quite another to have reality come calling, with no preparation for the things he might very soon be asking. She wanted to tell him to stop, that this was too much all too soon—yet she wanted it all, despite how sudden and dizzying his declarations were. She closed her eyes instead, trying to calm herself before she reacted foolishly.

Still he continued, perhaps taking her silence for acquiescence, “…there’s nothing I’d like more than to spend all my nights making love to you. To wake in the morning and hear you singing in the shower as you get ready for your day. To have you kiss me goodbye when I have to go away, and know you’ll miss me the moment I walk out the door, as much as I’ll be missing you.” When she braved looking his way again, his face was a mix of hopefulness and earnestness that made him appear a man in the flush of passionate youth—a look that always softened her resolve, melted her inhibitions, and made her willingly lay her heart at his feet. _As though I ever have the will enough_ _to deny him anything, _she thought in all honesty, and with only a small degree of rue.

“I want to watch you follow your dreams the way I’ve been able to follow mine; I’ll stand firmly behind you, whatever the path you need to take to achieve them. I want to share the wonderful sights and sounds and experiences that I’ve been blessed enough to have, but I want you to live them firsthand; I’ll take you there, and they will be all the sweeter for _me_ because of sharing them with _you_.” Benedict ducked his head, almost shyly, and ran a hand through his hair, leaving his palm to rest on the nape of his neck; just a couple of the little habits Anni had come to cherish, and had learned to read as signs of what he was feeling. He meant every word he spoke, with no hyperbole—but did he realize how momentous this must be to her?

He slid one hand along her thigh, reaching to take her own. She let him twine his fingers through hers, reflecting on their strength, their elegance, and how gentle they could be in the most tender of times—and how insistent they became when passion moved him. Anni knew she could no more gainsay the course Benedict seemed to be laying out for their future, any more than she could stand against the loving treatment she received at his hands.

“Anni,” he smiled at her crookedly again, “Annika…” he seemed to savor her full name as he said it, making her breath catch. “You must know I’d be happy to keep doing this—the quiet times like this—and _all_ of these things, for the rest of our lives.”

“No,” she finally whispered, barely audible, “You can’t mean this, Ben. It’s too soon…much too soon…”

“Oh but I can, Anni. I mean every, single word.” He was unperturbed about her quiet objection, smiling all the more as he read her true desire in her eyes, “I’ve been waiting, searching for a long time now, for the woman who would fill my heart to overflowing. It’s you, Anni,” he concluded, sitting a little taller, a little straighter in his certainty, “I haven’t a single doubt, love. I’d stake my life on it.”

She began to shake her head—shock and disbelief conspiring against her natural inclination to shout ‘ _YES!_ ’ to everything he seemed to be asking of her. “Ben, no; you can’t want this already--we’ve barely known each other a couple of months…” she sputtered, “…it’s far too soon to even think such a thing!”

Benedict clucked his tongue and raised his chin a bit, “Ah, but I _do_ know what I want, Anni.” He leaned closer, telling her wryly, “Call it a benefit of my extra years of experience, baby.” He cupped her cheek against his palm, his fingertips threading through her hair, his voice irresistibly low and deep, “I want _you_ , Annika Grayson. Not only on your best of days, but every day. Every night.” The lift of his brow and the set of his mouth as he said this, told the story of all the things their nights had entailed, drawing a flush up her neck to her cheeks. He kissed her quietly, teasing her lower lip with the fullness of his own, lingering to taste her breath, before resting his forehead against hers. Benedict murmured her name upon her skin, telling her too, “You make me alive in ways I’d forgotten about, Anni. You make me feel I could take on the world for your sake, and win against any odds.”

Anni remained still, feeling her breath settle into rhythm with his, thinking how easy it would be to let his generous, loving will just carry her along. Yet her practical and stubborn inner voice had to raise some common sense objections. She laid her hand against his neck, pulling away a little just to see his face. “You know, Ben,” she started, trying to make light of the serious moment, so to keep herself on an even keel, “you make it very hard for a woman to say ‘ _no_ ’ to anything you ask.”

“All the better,” he chuckled, winking roguishly, “but _you_ are the only woman I’ll ever want a ‘ _yes_ ’ from.”

 _Damn your charm_ , she thought, _how can I make myself clear_? All she could do was plunge ahead. “You don’t…you don’t really know me that well. How could you, in such a short time?” Anni kept her voice casual, hoping a little humor would ease their conversation, “I assure you I have a hundred little faults hiding in plain sight, that you just haven’t noticed yet. You’re…you’re blinded by the sex…”

Benedict laughed out loud at that, shaking his head, answering quickly, “As magnificent as that's been, love—and it has been, Anni, I swear on my soul—I know _exactly_ what I need to know about you, above and beyond the delicious physical…”

“Oh?” she challenged him squarely.

He waited a moment, his eyes voicing his answer well before his words. “Your heart is an open book, Annika. Deep and capable of oceans of tenderness. Please don’t deny me the chance to drown in them.”

Anni could feel her resistance waning, leaving wanting very much to give in to his gentle persuasion. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath before opening them again, clinging with great effort to a stricter reality, “You say this all now, when we’re still shiny and new. What happens when the glow wears off?” Conflicted by what she wanted versus what she believed would be for their best, she felt herself on the edge of tears, “What happens when I disappoint you, when I let you down?”

“Oh god, Anni, I wish you could see all the amazing things you are.” His eyes and voice held absolute patience, absolute understanding, and a compassion that she had been in desperate need of for all the many months she had been working to rebuild her life. “I have complete faith in you, honey,” he continued, reading correctly her true desire to give in to his appeal, “Trust me—there is _nothing_ you could do or say to make me love you or want you any less; I’ll only ever love you more.”

Anni knew she couldn’t turn him from this course—in truth, how could she want to? She traced his cheekbone lovingly with tender fingertips, then along his jawline, to brush her thumb across his lips, drawing the little sideways smile that held her heart in thrall. “I love you so much, Ben. And your love has made all the difference in finally getting my life back on track after everything that’s happened this past year…in finally finding my way back to...” She paused, letting herself trust in the quiet promise of his eyes, “... _me_ …my truest self. But honestly, I’m just…not ready for this…”

He barely shook his head, smile growing wider while he told her confidently, “Then we’ll make it a long engagement. You’ll have plenty of time to _get_ ready--and after however much time you need, you’ll come to me fully willing. Willing and eager to get on with the rest of our life together.”

 _How easy he makes it all sound_ , she reflected, _but the doing could be far more complicated than he even expects_. Suddenly, all Anni wanted was to give in; to throw her arms around him and tell him ‘ _yes_ ’ a hundred times or more; to let herself follow his lead and fall forever into everything she loved about him.

“But Benedict, really,” she struggled to tell him, “it’s just too…whirlwind. People are bound to think you’re a fool, rushing forward like this; that I’m some nobody gold digger—or worse—taking advantage of you. They might even think I’m using you to get a break in the business.” Anni’s voice hitched, “I can’t let them think of you that way. Surely you understand this?”

Yet still he smiled, as though he had already numbered her every concern and found the answers to refute them, “I understand you only want what’s best for me. And I promise you, what’s best for me is _you_.”

It seemed he _had_ thought all of this through, enough to anticipate her sticking points—but beyond her concern that she might hurt or disappoint him, lived an unspoken fear. As much as she longed for all that he was offering her, Anni was afraid to let herself sink into such a happy dream, having learned by hard experience that even the best of intentions couldn’t protect against the unpredictable. Unpredictable things that could steal such a sweet dream from her grasp and leave her so broken-hearted that she might never recover.

Anni bowed her head, knowing he was waiting, knowing her heart had already consented to the life he was offering her. She took a very deep breath, and then lifted her eyes to meet his, “Just let me think on this a while, okay? Just a little while, because I really hadn’t expected this.” She shook her head as she realized the actual truth, “Well, not this soon, anyway.”

He nodded, waiting for just that little more. “And I truly want to do what’s right by _you_ ," she added, “Now and always…and for only the best of reasons. I just need a bit more time.”

Benedict sighed in relief, his smile irrepressible, and put his hands on Anni’s shoulders to look her squarely in the eyes. “That will be fine, whatever time you need. Because I trust in your heart, Anni. And I know something that you don’t.” When she looked perplexed he answered her unspoken query. “You’ll be my wife…the mother of my children, and…” he chuckled softly as he considered the next of his predictions, “...the woman who sees me into my golden years.” He nodded as though this was all, indeed, a foregone conclusion, “I’ve waited this long to find you--and the wait for you to see this for yourself will be short compared to that.”

Anni leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, feeling very like she’d come home at last; come home as she had never expected to--and praying silently that she could be _exactly_ all those things, and whatever more that he might come to need.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last, perfect night, before a long separation...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...best they enjoy their time together now, for Love doesn't control the course of events, as much as we wish it did.

He’d planned their evening out with meticulous detail; it was to be his last night home before leaving for an event-packed trip to the States, culminating in the New York premiere of _The Imitation Game_. Their last night together for ten days, the longest he would be apart from Anni since their beginning. Benedict was excited about all that lay ahead—of course he was; Alan Turing was the most important of all the roles he’d had the privilege of playing, and he wanted the world to recognize not only the man’s incredible accomplishments, but the cruel injustice that deprived this hero of his very life. The film, the role—these were the vehicles by which this would be achieved—and he intended to do everything in his power to see to its success.

Yet he felt torn on the eve of his departure, torn as he never could have imagined when he’d made the film the year before. For once again, the gentle woman who filled his days and nights with sublime happiness and had reawakened the vigor of his youth…she would not be at his side. As always, Benedict understood her reasoning, even if he couldn’t agree to its necessity—but he also knew very well that he would be away at a critical time, when she might need him the most, and it was unavoidable.

And so he had decided to fill their last evening with remarkable things—starting with the sort of luxuries that Anni had never experienced. It had taken some persuasion, but she had finally consented to a trip to Harrods a few days ahead of their outing, with firm instructions to pick the prettiest dress and shoes, and any other accessory she found suitable, and not to worry a bit about the cost; that green cocktail dress was lovely (and would always evoke happy memories for him) but Benedict intended to treat her to only the best. Anni had taken Helene along on the shopping trip, making it far less intimidating than if she’d gone alone, and she had returned home a few hours later with her selections in the signature black and green garment bag. She sternly informed Benedict that he was not to take a single peek—for she intended to dazzle him when the time came, and give him his money’s worth.

The morning of their date he had driven Anni to a posh day spa, to have her pampered with a facial, manicure and pedicure, and a massage, along with whatever else might suit her fancy--including a gourmet lunch tailored to suit her tastes. She fairly glowed with health and happiness when he picked her up, clearly ready and excited for the events of the evening to unfold.

As the afternoon waned, Anni made her preparations behind the door of the spare bedroom, which she had declared off limits to him for the duration. Once ready himself, Benedict waited at the base of the stairs, restlessly pacing in anticipation until he heard the familiar creak of the opening door, followed by the soft swish of fabric as she moved to the head of the stairs.

Any picture his imagination had painted fell far short of the vision she was, poised on the landing, awaiting his reaction. Benedict breathed hard as he took in the sight of her, the complete picture first, and then the lovely, innumerable details as Anni descended the staircase. An amazed smile spread across his face, and speech failed him as she moved closer, and all he could do was cover his heart with both hands, miming the weakened knees of a man knocked nearly off his feet—for it was as though Artemis herself had loosed her arrow, hitting him squarely, and fatally so.

Anni had piled her hair loosely, a thin silver band woven throughout, with a few dark ringlets spilling out softly against the fair skin of her neck. The pale silver silk chiffon of her gown draped her curves with iridescence, and was gathered in an empire waist that fell flawlessly to her ankles. The crook of her v-neckline was adorned with intricate, pewter-colored beading, which was echoed atop her shoulder straps, and from which fluttered soft, elbow length, split sleeves. Her modest silver heels glittered with rhinestones along the straps, and the simple silver bangles on her wrist and the teardrop faux pearl and rhinestone earrings completed the look of a goddess out of Grecian myth.

Had his first thought been of The Huntress, with her arrows swift and true? There was a far more apt comparison to be made, and it sprang from his lips in quiet exclamation. “My sweet Aphrodite,” he called to her, hands still clasped against his chest as though her winsome beauty had weakened his heart. In fact it had, but in the happiest of ways.

Anni blinked demurely, thrilled with his response, feeling impossibly beautiful—and fixing the look on his face forever in her mind. “You like it then?” she asked softly, already sure of his answer.

Benedict nodded and drew a deep breath, “You look beautiful, honey. Breathtaking.” He stepped nearer, offering her his arm, so that she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, happy and holding him close.

“Well, you look like a dream, Ben.” She craned her neck to kiss his cheek, leaving just a trace of her lipstick there; she smoothed a thumb on his skin to clear the stain away, then added, “The kind that makes me never want to wake up.”

In reply, his voice was smooth as the silk she wore, “Then let’s make the most of it, love.” He led her forward, stopping before the door to help her into her coat, and don his own, then ushered Anni out of the door into the crisp November night.

* * *

 Benedict had arranged for a driver for the evening, wanting to spend every moment making the night as perfect as possible for Anni. They arrived at the London Symphony with time to spare, and Anni held tight to his hand as the first notes of Handel’s _Solomon_ played out. He found himself watching her as much as he watched the musicians and the featured vocalists, deeply enamored by her rapt, enchanted expression.

Afterwards, they had a late supper at the historic, glamorous landmark, The Savoy. He had ensured that a bottle of the 2004 Dom Perignon awaited them at table side, making her grin and beam her happiness while she took her seat. Anni indulged him, allowing him to order for her, fully game to try his selections. And afterwards, there was even time to take to the dance floor, where she followed his lead through every turn, as light as a dream herself, trusting him, leaning on him, and making a memory as dear to him as he hoped it would all be to her.

Yet the high point of the evening—at least in Benedict’s mind—came later, when they returned home. He patted the inside breast pocket of his jacket, feeling the square box resting inside; the box he’d carried all evening long, tapping the reassuring weight of it lightly when Anni was unaware, and looking forward to finally presenting it to her. The box whose smaller mate sat waiting at the back of his desk drawer, with all his hopes that she would be ready to receive it before too long. He was thinking—planning, really—on Christmas, truly wondering if he would have the patience to wait even that long.

A single log smoldered in the hearth, kindled more for ambiance than for warmth. Without waiting to be asked, Anni had fixed him a nightcap while he’d seen to the fire—just another sign of how comfortable they had become, like they’d been together years, instead of months, and thus entirely easy in the knowing of one another’s likes and wants and needs, as surely as they knew their own. Their shoes sat beneath the coffee table, duty done for the night; Anni had tucked her legs up on the sofa cushion as she leaned against him, toying with his free hand as his arm encircled her. They spoke quietly, laughing softly too, recounting the best moments of the night; the music, the food, the beauty of London lit at night, and how Benedict had dipped her on the dance floor like some old-fashioned romantic lead in a black & white film, to her delight and wide-eyed surprise. And those furtive stares and whispers they had received when other patrons at the symphony and restaurant recognized the celebrity in their midst--he assured Anni they had to have been sourced in admiration of how gorgeous she looked. She laughed and called him a liar, yet he knew she enjoyed the flattery.

And so the time had come, he knew; the timing couldn’t be more perfect. “Annika,” he started, and she stirred a little against him at his use of her formal name, humming back contentedly. Benedict kissed the softness of her hair, and then continued, “You know I’d give anything not to be apart from you come the seventeenth…”

Anni turned her head enough so she could look up at him. “We’ve been over this, Ben.” She kissed his jaw lightly, smiling at his concern, “My sweet Benedict. And I meant every word I said—you mustn’t worry, I’ll be fine.” She turned back to face the fire, thinking the subject was closed.

He brushed the backs of his fingers up her neck and along her jawline, so that she sighed pleasantly, turning her face up to his once again. Her eyes were closed and her lips slightly parted, anticipating his kiss. Although he would’ve liked to lose himself in all that she offered, Benedict needed discipline a little while longer; and so he waited several breaths until her eyelids fluttered open in curiosity.

“What?” she finally asked, perplexed and pouting a little that he hadn’t followed through.

He pressed his lips together, allowing his smile to crease the corners of his mouth. How predictable she was, how dear—and not in a simple way. No; Anni was like a book that had been especially written for him. He could spend a lifetime reading her, learning her, memorizing her pages--and still find reasons to marvel at her well-known details. She was the book he would never want to put down.

Benedict sighed, stroking the skin beneath her ear, the tips of his fingers threading through her hair, “It’s just… I hate the thought of you being alone…”

Anni interrupted him swiftly, tutting in response, “I won’t be. First of all, I’ll have work to keep me busy.” When he looked to object, she placed two fingers upon his lips, silencing him for a time. “And after that I’m having supper and drinks with a couple friends from uni, and then maybe a movie. So you don’t need to worry about me being alone, ok?” Seeing he was far from convinced, she continued without pause, “And of course you’ll call, you’ll text. The distance isn’t nearly the same, you know, from when _you_ were my age,” she teased him, “and in all the ways that matter most, you won’t really be so very far away, will you?”

“Please, honey…,” he asked her patiently, “you don’t need to be so blithe about it for my sake. I know how it will be, the sorrow in your heart, the grief…” Benedict trailed off as her expression softened.

“Of course I’ll be sad, of course I’ll grieve that day,” she admitted, voice husky with emotion. “What kind of…” Anni paused, considering if the right to use a very particular word, was hers. “What kind of a _mother_ …what kind of a woman…would I be if I didn’t?” And there it was, her bittersweet little smile, the one that had spoken to his heart from that very first night and had made him want to understand what sort of secret pain she carried.

Benedict took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him fully. “Well,” he began, “since I can’t be here with you…can’t be where my heart is….there’s this…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the midnight-blue velvet box, “I thought, perhaps this little thing…I thought perhaps it might help a bit. Until we’re together again.”

Anni gasped softly, caught unprepared as she took it from his hand, and opened the hinged lid. He held his breath, waiting for her reaction, then gladdened as she declared, “Oh my gosh, Ben. It’s…it’s lovely!” She lifted the bracelet from the box, letting it dangle from her fingers, while she repeated quietly, “Absolutely lovely.” Silver beads, daintily etched and no two alike, were set between pairs of pale, rosy beads; the groups of three were, in turn, separated by much smaller crystal beads. Near the clasp hung a delicate, filigreed silver butterfly and a miniature puffed heart, which proved to be the smallest locket she had ever seen. She held the bracelet closer so she could study all the intricate details.

“It’s hand made,” he told her, his voice hushed at the sight of her wonder. “Shall I?” he asked, and when she nodded silently, Benedict took the bracelet from her hand and undid the clasp so he could place it on her wrist. “I had it made just for you, honey.”

Anni beamed him a look of gratitude, “I love it, Ben.” She leaned in and nuzzled his cheek before kissing it gently, “You really are too good to me.”

“Not nearly as much as I wish you’d allow,” he confided. He lifted her hand, palm up, to finger the beads as he explained the details. “These beads?” he pointed out, “These are rose quartz; they stand for unconditional love and compassion. They are believed to promote inner healing and peace. The peace of heart, mind, and spirit I wish for you, sweetheart.” He looked back at her face; her eyes were wide and her smile was small and sentimental. Benedict hesitated only a moment, sure that Anni could already understand all the symbolism he had yet to explain. “And the butterfly—a symbol of life reborn, of change, and of hope. Many cultures believe the butterfly represents the human soul.” She nodded and made a small, soft sound of acknowledgment, before he went on, “The locket opens up, see?” Benedict slid a nail into the thin line separating the halves of the heart, to show her what was written inside in fine, tiny script. _Hope_.

Anni’s breath caught as she realized the full meaning of his gift, before managing to reply, “Oh, Ben…it’s the most beautiful gift anyone has ever given me. Thank you,” she sighed, wiping away the little tears on her cheeks, “thank you for this…and for everything.”

Restraint no longer required, he answered with a tender kiss, before she laid her head upon his shoulder again. They lingered in the quiet, warm and content with one another. Watching the flames burn, Benedict had been about to suggest that they head upstairs, when Anni broke the silence. “Could we maybe put another log on the fire? Stay here just a little while longer?”

Tired he was, and not relishing the thought of the long flights in store for him the next day, he still couldn’t refuse her simple request. After completing the task, he looked back to Anni; she was perched on the edge of the sofa, waiting on his attention. “And since you’re up…um…” she asked him, grinning sheepishly, “Would you mind very much if I had a glass…just a glass of whatever’s open?” Anni batted her eyes prettily, so that he merely nodded, smirked at her easy manipulation of him, and then headed for the kitchen. Her sweet, “Thank you, darling,” followed him out of the room.

Rounding the corner from the hallway, Benedict advised her smartly, “There was just enough white zin left to fill a glass…”—and his eyes widened at the sight that greeted him. Anni stood before the hearth, her back to him; she had slid free the straps of her gown and was bare to the waist, a silent enticement that begged him come near.

Hearing his quick, surprised gasp, she lifted her chin and slowly turned her head over her shoulder, looking completely lovely and languid in the firelight. “Maybe leave that on the table a bit,” she told him, her small smile betraying the mischief she desired, “I’m not quite as thirsty as I thought.” Anni began pulling the pins from her hair, casting them casually on the hearth, while letting her hair fall in a velvet cascade.

Immediately entranced—and breathing deeply in appreciation _and_ anticipation--he set down the glass, and nearly sprinted to her. His eagerness made her laugh softly, and she took his hand, kissing his knuckles while she gazed in his eyes. “There’s a gift or two I’d share with you,” she told him breathlessly, and without a word, Benedict cupped that hand against her cheek. She closed her eyes at his touch, nestling her cheek against his palm, “Mmmm.”

Looking up at him again, Anni slid one hand around his neck, and pulled his loosened tie away with the other, undoing his buttons, and slowly kissing his neck; kisses that coursed through his blood, heating him more thoroughly than any fireside flame ever could. Anni murmured as her lips caressed his skin, “That is, of course, if you’ve the patience to receive them, darling.” She parted the fabric of his shirt and pressed her flesh against his, the contact drawing a low moan from deep inside of him. “Do you have the patience, my love?”

“Patience, and so much more,” he growled back, splaying his hands across her back, then moving them to slide her gown down past her hips, so that it puddled on the floor, leaving only a whisper of lace to cover her below—and that was soon gone as well, as the lovers gave and took and gave again, in profusion, seeking ever to satisfy enough to see them through the lean times of their coming separation.

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble comes a-calling.

Benedict’s itinerary had him in Los Angeles over several days for a series of interviews, meetings, and events--most related to promoting _The Imitation Game_ \--followed Saturday evening by a flight to New York City for a Sunday podcast and the Monday premiere of the film. It was a whirlwind, it was exhausting, leaving him little time for catching up with west coast friends and colleagues—yet he found it invigorating, having become accustomed to the rush of it all over the past couple of award seasons, walking the red carpet for multiple movie premieres and as a cast member of award nominated films.

The weather was pleasant and seasonably mild; nothing like the damp, chill London fall he’d left behind. But for all its appeal, LA was still too far from home, too far from where his heart truly lived—so that in the rare moments of downtime, his mind was bent in that direction without fail. And although their time zones differed greatly, Benedict set aside time each afternoon to call Anni—usually just as she was kipping down for the night—so they were never out of touch for long. He told her more than once of all the sights he planned to share with her the next time he traveled to the west coast; she was cagey in her replies, but he knew he’d win her over when their timing would be right.

Friday evening found him at the Hollywood Palladium, attending the 18th annual Hollywood Film Awards. Though televised for the first time this year, the banquet and award ceremony was a rather low key affair, considered by some in the business as the first stop on the long award-season journey. There was no sense of competition however, and none of the excitement and expectation that came with better known awards ceremonies--for there was no nominations or voting; recipients were determined by a small committee, and honorees knew in advance they had “won”. The powers at the Weinstein Studios were pleased with the notice, and the consequent publicity it would bring for _The Imitation Game_ , so that Benedict felt a strong obligation to appear, despite feeling himself that it was a manufactured event that had little to do with rewarding the quality of the works thus honored. He, along with Keira, and director Morten Tyldum, were on hand (composer Alexandre Desplat having already received his award at an earlier event) representing the film, meaning there was at least good company to share the evening with. Benedict viewed the ceremony as an excellent opportunity to promote the film and the very important story that it told. He planned his acceptance speech accordingly, highlighting the honor he felt in portraying Alan Turing, as well and his own deep-seated hopes that bringing the story to light would finally engender wider acknowledgement of the man’s ground-breaking, life-saving work, along with recognition of the injustice Turing suffered at the hands of the government he served, and helped to save, from the triumph of fascism.

Saturday afternoon came  _The Imitation Game_ press conference at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, for the main players and director, followed by a dinner party hosted by Harvey Weinstein. From there, Benedict was off to LAX for his flight to New York City.

He arrived at LaGuardia in the wee hours of Sunday morning, caught a few hours sleep, and then headed to the Upper East Side for the _Reel Pieces_ podcast, recorded before a very lively, enthusiastic audience. The main event—the New York premiere of _The Imitation Game_ –followed an afternoon luncheon, and rounded out his schedule on Monday evening, reuniting him with cast mates, and most of the key members of the production team, for the screening at the Ziegfield Theatre and the after-party at Tavern on the Green. It was an arduous but completely gratifying rush of events, and a time for celebrating work well done, and though it left him--once again--short on sleep, it was the best exhaustion he had ever known.

* * *

Two days later, and came a rare morning that allowed for Benedict to sleep in, and he’d intended to take full advantage of it. The day before, he had taped a segment of _The Daily Show_ , and appeared as a presenter for _CNN Heroes_ —so with nothing on this day’s agenda until early afternoon, he felt he had more than earned the downtime. The persistent buzz of his mobile had other plans, however, eventually dragging him to consciousness, and making him grab it from the nightstand. Groggy, bleary-eyed, he squinted at the screen, noting the time (hours earlier than he’d planned to wake) and caller—Karon. She’d returned to London the previous day, leaving him in the capable hands of PA’s Emily and Joel, to assist him through his remaining interviews and meetings. If this was meant to be a transatlantic wake-up call, he would need to have a word with her regarding timing.

“Karon,” he said, trying to be patient despite his irritation, “you do know what time it is here?”

“I do,” she answered somberly, “but I’ve been sitting on this for several hours, and it really can’t wait any longer.”

The first flickers of apprehension raised the hairs on the back of his neck, his imagination running ahead of what she might say next. Had something happened with mum or dad; were his sister Tracy and her family alright? Karon continued in his silence, a surprising and unmistakable note of anger in her voice, “I told her to tell me _everything_. And I _meant_ everything. Did you know about this?”

Benedict sat up, struggling to shake off his drowsiness, and growled impatiently, “Karon, it’s only 6am here, and I’m not even half awake. What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a serious need for damage control, Benedict,” she replied, “I’m talking about timing that couldn’t be worse for this to come out.”

“Come…out…” he repeated, beginning to wonder if the unknown crisis arose from something he had done. _Inadvertently_ done. It wouldn’t be the first time—and he’d been running on full speed, bouncing back and forth between London and the States so much, that an occasional blip was bound to occur. Inconvenient as such things could be, they usually passed quickly, for he had a mostly forgiving fan following.

“Dammit, Ben, there are pictures,” she exclaimed. “Have you seen them? Or did she keep that little secret from you too?”

Suddenly his mouth went dry, as it dawned on him who “she” must be. ”Karon,” he asked, despite a tongue that felt too thick to speak, “Is this something to do with Anni?”

“Who else could it be?” She huffed her exasperation, then adopted a calmer tone, “Be honest with me, Benedict. Did she tell you about the pictures?”

Benedict remained baffled, still trying to get his bearings, “Karon, I have no idea what you are talking about, so maybe you’d better fill me in. Now.”

“I suppose there’s no way to sugar-coat this.” Karon took a depth breath, and began laying out the unhappy details, “There’s a photo spread of Anni in this week’s issue of _Chi_. And there was a tease about them, just after midnight Milan time, on the magazine’s website.” She paused, presumably to let him absorb that information. “The actual copies went on sale this morning.”

Benedict leaned back against the headboard. Although he’d known the time had been fast approaching—and had prepared Anni as best he could for when she’d find herself in the public spotlight as the woman in his life—he had hoped their private bliss would go on a while longer. And that an ocean would not separate them when her name finally hit the papers, so that he could shield her from the rapacious press.

“Thank god she didn’t make the cover, at least.” Karon’s voice was even-toned as she filled in the specifics, “Apparently, an ex-boyfriend sold them to the gossip rag. Karon paused, and he heard the shuffle of papers before she revealed, “The headline translates as _‘A-lister Benedict Cumberbatch plucks a wild English rose’_.”

“Sunovabitch,” he muttered, picturing himself throttling said ‘ex’. “How…how bad is it really?” he asked, all trace of sleepiness gone for good.

“Honestly? Pretty damn…” Karon had no way to know, but each of her words struck a merciless blow to his fraying hope that Anni might go unscathed. “ _Closer_ in France has picked up the story, and the press here is all over it too. I suppose you’ll find the same come daylight US time.” When he made no reply, she went on, “You really knew nothing about this?”

“I swear to you, Karon—nothing.” But knowing the nature of the magazines involved, Benedict began to imagine the kind of pictures in question—pictures that just couldn’t exist. Impossible pictures, surely; this was _his_ Anni after all. And yet he felt a nagging uncertainty insinuate itself at the back of his mind.

He shook his head vigorously, ashamed he could doubt her at all, especially when her welfare should be his greatest concern. “Karon, does Anni even know about this? Is she okay?” The fact that she hadn’t tried to contact him herself argued that she was likely unaware of the situation.

Karon’s response was curt, but given her priorities, not surprising, “Anni’s not my concern right now. You are—your career, and how we are going to answer this in the press.”

His earlier sense of apprehension was now overshadowed by a healthy dose of fear; not for himself, but for Anni’s sake, as realized how bad things could actually get. “What sort of photos are we talking about?”

Karon hesitated a moment, while Benedict braced himself for the worst, “Topless, wearing knickers only. Posed quite seductively, I might add…”

“That’s absurd,” he exclaimed, “Anni would _never_ …”

“Well, she did--and it’s online for the whole world to see.”

“This can’t be happening,” he murmured, wishing this was just a bad dream, even as the feel of his blood pounding in his ears denied that possibility. “You’re certain it’s her?”

“Without a doubt, Ben,” Karon asserted, “And I’m sorry to be so calculating about it, but we need to get on top off this asap. It won’t be long until I—or the both of us—hear from Weinstein’s people. They’re bound to see this as negative publicity.”

Benedict wasn’t ready to let his mind go there. He was thinking about Anni, caught well out of her depth, standing alone, unpolished and unprepared to deal with the furor headed her way. He was thinking about his parents, and what they were bound to think about her when they heard about this, before he’d even had the chance to tell them he planned a future—a family, for christ sake—with her. He was considering how careful he had been in quietly introducing her to his world, to friends and colleagues—and that all of that caution meant nothing now. Bad publicity was the least of his concerns at the moment. “Karon, I…I need to come home. Today.” He knew before saying it that she wouldn’t like what he was asking of her. “Is there _any_   way you can get me out of the interviews I’ve got scheduled today and tomorrow?”

She met his question with a measured silence, then sighed her exasperation. “I wouldn’t advise it, Ben. The best thing you can do is to stick to your original game plan…giving as little comment as possible if any questions come up regarding…” she sighed—hard this time, clearly frustrated, “…regarding Anni’s… _youthful indiscretion_.”

“Karon, I really don’t think I can do that. I need to see her; I need to make sure she’s okay.” He knew he sounded plaintive—sincerely so—and hoped it might serve to sway her.

“Dammit, Ben,” she replied, “I _knew_ you were going to do this.” He imagined she was shaking her head, reluctantly considering his request. “Alright, let me see what I can do. But you absolutely _cannot_ get out of today’s commitments. That is not wise, nor is it negotiable, understand? And you’re locked into the recording session for _The Colbert Report_ , come tomorrow morning.”

“Bugger, I’d forgotten that.” Benedict grunted his frustration, “Alright then…uh…see what you can manage for the rest of the week. I want to catch the first flight back to London, after finishing _Colbert_.” He could feel a whopper of a headache waiting to assert itself, full blown. “And Karon?”

“Yes, Benedict?” She didn’t even try to disguise her impatience.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for the unpleasantness of this surprise. If I’m making your job even more difficult, know that Anni is my first priority in all of this.” He added unapologetically, “And _that_ is nonnegotiable as well.”

“Oh dear Ben,” she laughed, surprising him, “I wouldn’t expect any less of you. I’ll be in touch when I have news.” She hung up abruptly, leaving him to consider the difficulties that certainly lay ahead.

How surreal it felt, in the darkened hotel room, his mind reeling at the sudden, unnerving news. Through the haze of shock, Benedict realized he had to call Anni without delay, but he knew he had to center himself first. He would be no use to her whatsoever if he couldn’t give her the confident support she surely needed; and he absolutely wanted to assure her that whatever this incident entailed, it wouldn’t change a jot how he felt about her. If anything, it cast an even brighter light on everything she meant to him, and the future he hoped to build with her.

And so he set his mobile down, sitting straight and closing his eyes to shut out any distractions. He breathed in through his nose, deeply and evenly, quieting all thought, then held it briefly, before exhaling slowly and smoothly through his mouth. Several minutes of this breathing technique calmed him sufficiently, leaving him ready to make that call.

Benedict knew she was likely en route to the restaurant, or had perhaps already started her shift. Sure enough, his call went immediately to her voicemail. “Anni honey, by the time you get this I’m betting you’ll already know what’s going on with that Italian magazine. I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this alone. Now I’m working on coming home; I’m hoping to catch a flight by tomorrow evening. Wish it could be sooner, but there’s a couple things I can’t get out of. Just, um…” he hesitated, unsure if any advice he gave her would make a difference in how she survived the gauntlet on her own, “…try to keep your head down and don’t let _anyone_ goad you into saying or doing something you’ll regret. I know it’s gonna be hard, but I’ll be there soon and we’ll face this together.” He hoped his calm tone carried across to help brace her to deal with the crisis. “I love you, Anni. Remember that. More today than ever, and nothing… _nothing_ …not this ridiculousness, not any bit of your past, will ever… _ever_ …change how I feel about you. I love you, baby, and I’ll be with you as soon as humanly possible.”

* * *

Catching a couple more hours of sleep was impossible now, so Benedict readied himself for the day ahead. He concentrated on the here and now as he showered and shaved—keeping his mobile close in case Anni called or texted. He ticked through the list of commitments he had scheduled the remainder of his trip, reminding himself of the most important points he planned to cover in the several interviews he had left. He phoned Anni twice more, each call reverting directly to her voicemail; both times made his heart sink with disquiet, as he asked her to please call him back. He ordered breakfast sent up, though his appetite had deserted him, replaced by gnawing worry as he waited to hear from Anni or Karon. While he ate—managing to consume only half his plate, orange juice and some black coffee--he tried to distract himself by going over his sides for the upcoming _Hollow Crown_ shoot. But as the morning dragged along, he realized he could no longer avoid checking online for himself; he _needed_ to know, of course, so he could navigate the public questions that waited ahead for him—and he _wanted_ to see for himself if the photographs actually reflected the Anni he had grown to know and love and need.

A simple search of his name and hers together yielded far more hits than he expected. Karon had been correct; the British and American tabloids had joined in the fray. He didn’t even need to check the _Chi_ website—there was plenty of material to peruse, and pictures in achingly fine detail.

He clicked on the link to _The Sun;_ might as well start where there was bound to be the hardest, cruelest coverage. Benedict had ridden the towering wave of his success and popularity carefully, keeping out of the notice of the gossip columns for the most part. He credited his publicity team, and his own discipline and prudence with that feat. And his name had never appeared on the cover of this rag—until today.

 **“Oh SH*T, SHERLOCK!”** read the banner headline, and beneath a color, inset photo, the caption, “Ben C’s #1 Cumberflame shows her naughty side”. Anni’s face was clear enough to recognize, pouting shamelessly above a black bar that covered her breasts. Although he had thought he was prepared, the shock of it dizzied Benedict, and he cried out her name as his reason failed him.

His hand shook as he advanced to the story, averting his eyes from the other pictures until he had read the copy in full. He scanned it quickly, the key words and phrases lodging themselves in his mind, so that he cursed his gift of easy memorization, before going back and reading every damning word again.

_“...Cumberbatch, best known for his star-making turn as Sherlock Holmes in the BBC modern reboot of Arthur Conan Doyle’s classic detective stories, has topped numerous ‘Most Eligible Bachelor’ and ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ lists in recent years, while keeping strict discretion when it comes to his personal life--leading to periodic speculation as to what lucky lady might ultimately capture his serious attentions (see related article, pg. 10)…”_

_“…whose rich voice and painstakingly detailed and vivid characterizations have made him the darling of the costume drama crowd, is considered a shoe-in as an Oscar contender for his portrayal of mathematician Alan Turing in the critically acclaimed_ The Imitation Game. _Cumberbatch and the film are currently garnering enthusiastic kudos and award nominations on both sides of the Atlantic…”_

 _“…young and fresh-faced, sources tell_   The Sun _that Grayson has him spellbound, doting on her every whim…”_

 _“…has also confirmed Ms. Grayson accompanied Cumberbatch to the London premiere of_ The Imitation Game _in October, although they did their best to keep their relationship low profile…”_

_“…but will this fetching Cumberbabe turn out to be too hot for one of Britain’s hottest bachelors to handle? Will her presence in his life affect his chances of success as he heads into award season? And we will we see her on his arm at those red carpet events—more suitably attired?...”_

Then, hesitantly, he focused on the pictures themselves, a half dozen in various poses, nothing naughtier than what might be seen in a 12A film; still, they were more than enough. This was his Anni alright, as amateurish as the photos appeared. Her dear flesh on display, as she flashed a half smile at the camera. He took in all the details in an instant, his mind cataloguing each nuanced little thing, to replay later—for he was certain to never forget these images. They appeared to have been taken with a smart phone; there was no attempt at artistry, so clearly they had been meant for private consumption. Anni’s nose, forehead and cheeks were a little reddened from the Mediterranean sun, while her shoulders were just slightly bronzed, and he knew immediately that these were taken during, or shortly following, their Italian holiday. Benedict cursed Jeremy under his breath, not for taking them, but for breaking her trust once again by sharing them with the world.

She had a tan line of sorts, too; her skin just lighter where the straps of her bathing suit had lain, and of course the unblemished fullness of her breasts. In one pose, she had her right arm across them--a sham of modesty, he reflected, for her left hand was buried in her hair, tousling it so that the message was quite clear. Post coital? No. This was Anni _before_ any deed was done, the sweet tease that she managed when the mood was right—and looking at her now, despite the revulsion he _should_ feel—did feel—his blood quickened just as it would were she before him in the flesh, and offering herself to him in the same way.

And in another photo, he saw with heart wrenching clarity the stray birthmarks that his lips had numbered countless times, upon her arms and torso. Secret little marks that he had memorized, and loved as much as he loved her—for they were his to treasure, as much as her gentle, loving caresses in the dark of night, or the throaty moans she gave over to him each time he made her come.

Each photograph, in turn, felt like a punch to his gut. And each one made Benedict pine to have her near, to tell him they meant nothing; that had she only known he awaited in her future, they _never_ would have come to be at all. Most of all, he wanted to have her in his arms, and feel her whisper against his skin that she loved him, and only him; ever more, and _only_ him.

Benedict closed his eyes as he closed the laptop screen, wanting to shut it all out, but _still_ he saw _his_ Anni. On her knees on the bed, pouting for the camera, pouting for Jeremy that was; her back arched to show her breasts at full advantage, and the smoothness of her skin below; the flat plane of her abdomen drawing his eyes downward to the sweet, little cup of her navel, that which he had kissed a hundred times. And then the v-shaped waistband of those familiar black lace knickers. He had known full well she was no virgin when she came to him the first time—but to see his private Anni so explicitly displayed, made him heartsick and weak with disappointment.

But the hardest one to take, the most painful of them all, was the picture that caught her laughing. Yes, that was easily the hardest one to look at; Anni caught laughing and happy and immodest with the confident power born of her youth and beauty—all for someone that would prove he didn’t deserve the wonder of her. This was Anni carefree in a way she could no longer be, before the pain of that broken trust, and before the heartbreak of her loss. If she appeared wanton, there was yet a fragile innocence to her that would soon fade in the face of harsher realities.

It was that perception which awoke the better angels of his nature, to overcome his initial shock, and the hurt that had come along with it. Hurt that she hadn’t told him about the photos; hurt that the woman he thought he knew so well could once have done such a thing at all. Putting aside his foolishly bruised ego, Benedict thought it through—how young Anni had been, and how much in love with Jeremy. Bastard likely promised they were all just for him. And like his other promises, he’d obviously broken that one as well, violating her trust in the meanest way he could manage.

Realizing how violated and humiliated she must feel, a rush of shame washed over him for the selfish disappointment he had harbored, brief as it had been. Benedict had pledged his unconditional love to Anni time and again, yet he had quailed too easily at evidence of long-past and callow misbehavior, when she needed his support and understanding more than ever.

So he did the only thing he could for now. Although he knew there was little chance she’d pick up, he rang her once again, discovering her voicemail box was full. Which likely meant she hadn’t checked any of his messages, and that he was not the only one trying to reach her. If Anni was working, it could still be hours until she called him back; but he had to leave the hotel shortly, and that meant his time would be spoken for. A text, then was his last resort…

_Anni, please call me soon. I hate not knowing how you’re doing. I need to hear your voice & know that you’re alright. If you can’t ring me, then text._

Uneasy as it left him, there wasn’t much more he could add, except…

_Know I won’t rest till I’m back at your side, baby. I love you & will do whatever it takes to set things right for you. Just call me, Anni. Please._

The alarm he’d been holding at bay since Karon’s call, beat a steady rhythm inside his skull, a counterpoint to the calm he needed to get through the professional commitments that awaited once he stepped out of the door. He had never in his life felt so far removed from his home and where his heart lay, and Benedict expected the hours ahead to only worsen that condition.

 

 

 

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crisis takes its toll--and a homecoming cannot come too soon.

The day had turned out to be one of the longest of his life.  Excruciatingly long, as he carried on with his obligations, concealing the turmoil rooted deep in his mind and heart.  Benedict’s skills served him well this day; he was surprised at how little concentrated effort it actually took to answer the interview questions, leaving him grateful for the practice he’d gotten in the dozens of times he had previously answered the same.  Karon had wisely filled Emily and Joel in on the crisis, enabling them to quietly shield him from the odd reporter lying in wait outside the hotel and at his scheduled destinations.  Fortunately, the news had not reached the frenzied pitch in the States that Karon had described back home, so that he was easily able to ignore their shouted inquiries when he passed from car to building to car again.  Emily and Joel also ensured, in advance, that the reputable interviewers he did meet with did not broach the topic of Anni and the ill-fated photographs. 

Late afternoon—evening London time—Karon called to update him on her communications with The Weinstein Company PR contacts.  For the time being, they had decided ‘ _no comment_ ’ was the best way for all parties to proceed, reserving the right to change that course should the situation worsen.  When he asked after Anni—if she’d been seen or heard from--Karon had nothing to tell him.  “I suppose she’s keeping her head down and riding it out,” she told him, prompting Benedict to ask her to send someone by both his place and Anni’s, to check on her.

Karon’s voice was strained—surely it had been a long and challenging day for her as well—but she remained patient, “It’s late now, and my people have all gone home.  How about I swing by myself come morning, if you haven’t heard from her by then?”

Although the idea of waiting the full night through for assurances of Anni’s well-being was torturous, Benedict accepted Karon’s offer, leaving himself the option to make a call or two himself if necessary, to ask a friend to check on Anni tonight. 

Lastly, Karon informed him that she’d booked him on a non-stop flight out of JFK the next day at 3pm.  It wasn’t soon enough to assuage the ache he felt to be at Anni’s side, but Benedict was grateful nonetheless for the expediency of Karon's response to his request. 

Meanwhile, he waited.  Waited and worried; waited to hear from Anni, praying in his manner, that she was well, safe, and above all, essentially untouched by the dire storm that had broken upon her.  Under ordinary circumstances, he would’ve spent his evening catching up with friends living in the city, or perhaps drinks and dinner with those castmates from _The Imitation Game_ that hadn’t yet returned home.  Instead, he retired to his hotel suite, ordered up a steak, a good bottle of bourbon, and a bucket of ice (although after his first tumbler full, he found himself drinking it neat, while he grimly considered Anni’s predicament and longed for the relief from his disquiet that only the sound of her voice would bring), and ended up flipping through a hundred channels trying to find something— _anything_ —to keep a calamitous sense of panic from overwhelming him.

And then, when he’d started to give up any real hope of hearing from her—by now it was the middle of the night in London—her ringtone broke the uneasy quiet of his room. Benedict answered in mere seconds, trying to sound calm and upbeat for her sake, “Hey, Anni—I’ve, uh… I’ve been hoping you’d call.”

“Hey, Ben,” she echoed, sounding tentative, and much too far away, “I didn’t wake you, did I?”  So few words, yet he could tell already that she’d been crying.

“No, honey,” he answered patiently, “I’ve been waiting just for you.”  He closed his eyes, simple relief filling his chest while he pictured her in his mind’s eye.  “Are you alright, baby?  I’ve been so worried…” 

Anni drew a quavering breath, “I _know_ I should’ve called sooner.  And I know it’s no good excuse, but I just felt so…damn humiliated.”  Her voice cracked, ragged with regret, “I’m…I’m _so_ sorry, Ben.  For everything…”    

He interrupted at once, “Oh god, Anni--you don’t have _anything_ to apologize for…”

“Oh, but I do,” she avowed, sounding on the verge of fresh tears, “It was such a stupid thing to do, and…well…now I’ve embarrassed _you_ …and the timing couldn’t be worse, could it?”  She didn’t wait for him to answer, “I know I should have told you about the pictures.  I almost did a couple of times, but then I was just so ashamed, that I…I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“Anni, honey…don’t you know by now that I could never hold something like that against you?  You’re…you’re my sweet girl **.** ”  As though in testament to his words, a wave of the purest affection washed over him; he continued on, through the lump in his throat, “Nothing could _ever_ change the way I feel about you.”

“Honestly, Ben, you don’t have to do this. I wouldn’t blame you in the least if your patience with me has worn thin.”  She breathed a weary sounding sigh, “You deserve so much better.  And my stupid mistakes shouldn’t reflect on you.” 

Benedict felt impotent in the face of her obvious distress and shame, the miles between them weighing more heavily on him than ever before.  “I’ve made more than my fair share of foolish decisions over the years,” he assured her, “And I promise you, love, that mistakes like this don’t define who we are.  You are so much more than these snapshots in time might convey.”

“That’s not at all how it feels from here,” she replied, so quietly that he wondered if she even meant for him to hear it, “I swear, Ben--I _never_ imagined he would sink so low.  But I guess I have only myself to blame now, don’t I?”

Like steel on flint, Anni’s question struck a spark to the tinder of Benedict’s anger towards Jeremy.  In no way did she deserve the pain of this disgrace and the pangs of self-recrimination that he heard in her voice.  If there was a way to make the bastard pay, he silently vowed to find it.  “Please don’t be so hard on yourself, Annika.  I promise you, this _will_ pass, but until it does, we’ll get through it together.”

“There you are--always the optimist.  My kind, my beautiful Benedict.”  As sad as she sounded, her love for him was undisguised.  “My dear Ben.  Forever generous to a fault.”  Anni finally gave in to the tears, “But most people don’t have your understanding nature…”

“Good god, Anni,” he exclaimed, “I don’t give a damn about what ‘most people’ think!”   The people that know and love us?  They are all that really matter.”  He knew, of course, he was being simplistic--disregarding for her sake, the hard fact that his career was a public one and his work a commodity of value to dispassionate interests.  Interests that might very well demand a resolution, a repair, to his media image—and they would not calculate the cost it might exact on the woman that he loved.

With the Atlantic still between them, this was not a topic he could even think of addressing; and in truth, he already knew he would shield her as much as possible from such ramifications.  In the meantime, Anni’s welfare was his greatest concern.  “Where are you right now, love?  I’d rather you weren’t alone—maybe you could ask Helene or another friend over?”

She was silent longer than he expected, and he wondered at her hesitation.  “I’m, um…” Anni sniffled, blew her nose, then told him, “My place. I’m at my place.”  Before he could object, she quickly added, “It was easier this way.  I came right here from the restaurant.  I can ride it out fine on my own here.  Really, I can—so please, _please_ don’t be worried.”

For peace of mind alone, Benedict would have preferred her safely ensconced in his flat, but he realized it would be useless to ask her to move now.  “Alright, honey.  I can have someone come by tomorrow if you want to head over to my place, or if there’s anything you need.”  _How useless he felt, not able to see to her himself!_   “ _Is_ there anything you need, Anni? ‘Cuz all it would take is a phone call…”

“The only thing I really need is you, you silly man.”  Her attempt to tease him could not hide the strain and exhaustion in her voice.  “And I know you’ll be here as soon as you are able. So promise me you won’t worry too much for my sake, alright?”

“I’ll do my best,” he fibbed, certain she knew already he wouldn’t be able to help but worry.  “And I’ll be on a plane tomorrow afternoon, and with you come Friday morning.”

She sighed—he had to believe it was in relief—then reiterated a point from earlier.  “Please believe me, Ben.  I’d do just about anything to keep this off your doorstep.  And I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right for you, and for all that you have coming up…to ensure this doesn’t affect the success of _The Imitation Game_ or any of the amazing things your future holds in store.” 

The fatalism in her tone and statement troubled him, but he let it go for now, hoping she would see things in a brighter light once he reached her side.  “All of that makes no matter now, love. We’ll sort this out I get home.”  He didn’t want to say goodbye, but accepted the time for it had come.  “Just remember, Anni—I believe in you completely, today and always.  And I love you more than I ever knew I was capable of.”

“Yes, Ben.  And I know…”  Her voice faltered, and he thought perhaps she might begin to cry again; instead she cleared her throat, overcoming whatever thought had given her pause, and told him quietly, “I know I’ve been the luckiest woman alive, to have had you as a part of my life.” 

She hung up before he could say goodnight, leaving him a chill thought that would plague him through hours of broken sleep:  she had said “ _been_ ” not “ _am_ ”; she had said “ _to have had_ ”, not “ _have_ ”.   Surely she had slipped, as she closed their conversation; surely she’d not meant to leave him thus so ill at ease.   Yet the effect upon his heart had been the same; and he couldn’t help but fear that Anni was making ready for a more permanent farewell.

* * *

 

He’d slept fitfully on the plane, eager for home, and impatient to reach Anni and see for himself if all was as well as she claimed.  They had spoken several times since that late night call—each time initiated by Benedict.  Anni answered his calls willingly enough, but he sensed that she was holding something back, even downplaying the effect this mess of a situation was having upon her.  There would be no true rest for him until he could read the naked truth in her eyes, and be the comfort and shelter she must surely be needing.

Fortunately, Benedict was able to whisk through customs, travelling light and leaving the bulk of his luggage for his personal assistant, Emily, to see delivered to his place in Hampstead Heath, while he headed across the city to Anni’s little flat.  That she had elected to spend the past few days at her own flat instead of his, troubled him--for he had believed she was finally seeing his home as her own.  If it meant he would have to win her over again, he was firmly committed to do whatever it might take to convince her.

Once inside her building, he slipped quietly through Anni’s door, finding she had left the hallway light on for him.  Benedict set his overnight bag to the side and hung his coat on the rack by the door.  Although nothing seemed amiss, he felt tense with anticipation and anxious about her welfare.  He had told her not to wait up for him--for truthfully, he would be relieved just by the sight of her sleeping peacefully—so he did not call out her name.  Instead, he slid his shoes off, planning on checking her small living room first, from which he discerned the flickering light of the television, before moving onto her bedroom, intending not to disturb her if she slept.

He found Anni asleep on the sofa, with the telly tuned into one of her favorite channels, the volume barely audible, so that he imagined she had drifted off to the distracting images of some smart, romantic comedy—just the sort she usually favored.  He grabbed the remote and switched the television off, and then turned Anni’s way.  A quarter bottleful of merlot ( _at least it’s not the hard stuff_ , he reflected) and an empty wine glass sat on the low coffee table, next to her compact notebook; he hoped that meant that she’d been writing a bit, for surely she would’ve found comfort in one of the things she loved best.

Anni--wearing her faded flannel bathrobe and a pair of thick, red woolen socks--lay on her side, hugging a bed pillow, with her face pressed against it.  Benedict gasped quietly with the realization that it was the pillow from _his_ side of the bed.  Pure Anni, he thought with no real surprise.  _My sweet Annika_.

Although it had been the longest separation since their beginning, he was certain the changes he saw in her were the result of only the past couple of days.  His heart seemed to crack at the uncommon paleness of her already fair complexion; the dark smudges beneath her eyes, which told a clear tale of sleepless nights; the weight loss evidenced in the deeper hollow of her cheek.  Anni had acted her part well each time they’d spoken since the photographs broke, and although he had suspected she was covering up her distress for his sake, to finally see her thus was a harsh awakening.  Benedict took a knee beside her, smoothing a hand upon her hair, gently so as not to wake her.

Anni stirred nevertheless, her red-rimmed, tired eyes ( _oh yes, she’s been crying alright_ , was his fleeting thought) fluttering open, then widening when she recognized him there before her.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he managed softly, threading his fingers through her hair.  Whatever else he hoped to say couldn’t get past the catch in his throat.

“Hey there, handsome,” she answered, sleepy-voiced and giving the smallest of sighs.

Benedict leaned in and brushed his lips upon her forehead, then moved back to look her squarely in the eyes.  “Didn’t mean to wake you, love.”

“S’ok, Ben.  I’m, uh…”  Anni closed her eyes, then breathed deeply as though to master her emotions.  She refocused on him, unflinchingly.  “I’m glad you’re here.”  The sad, wee smile that broke upon her face was like a single ray of sunshine piercing through storm clouds; that small ray of hope in a sea of sorrow.  It broke his heart a little, that sweet smile, for the pain it conveyed, and it filled him with quiet, loving pride at this show of her indominatable spirit.  “How was your flight?” she asked.

He pressed his lips together in his own small, involuntary smile.  “Uneventful—and nowhere near fast enough to get me back to you.”

His answer seemed to please her well, so that she placed her palm against his cheek, while blinking sleepily.  For the first time in days, an effortless calm came over him, relief mixed with every tender feeling Anni inspired within him.  He quietly broached the question that lingered between them, “Do you want to talk about it, honey?

Anni shook her head decisively, “Mm-mm.  Not right now.  There’ll be time enough for that later, I suppose.”  She stretched a bit, then sat up slowly, and to his dismay, somewhat unsteadily.  “Maybe you could just hold me for a while?  I’ve been missing that most terribly.”

“Of course,” he said, taking her outstretched hand, while watching her carefully.  She was making a brave show of things, just as she had in their mobile conversations—but he was near enough now to see clearly that she was shaken, and weakened in a way he never would have envisioned.

Still, she had the strength to pull him down beside her, and when he reached his arms around her, Anni nestled against him, resting her head on his shoulder and one hand on his chest.  Holding her at last, Benedict discovered the true physical toll her public ignominy had wrought.

“Fragile” was _never_ a word he associated with Anni.  Soft, yes; feminine, beautifully so; even delicate when the mood suited her, but never at the cost of the strength and resilience that lived at her core.  But _fragile_?  He was shocked, holding her now, shocked to feel her as frail as a bird with a broken wing; to feel her so vulnerable and forlorn, like a lovely songbird that had lost its music, mayhap its very purpose.  For the first time, he wondered if he truly had the wherewithal to help her set things right, to help her find her rhythm again, and the sweet notes that made up her unique and precious song—and if so, how to make a start of it.

They sat in silence for a while, Anni’s quiet, steady breathing enough for Benedict to know she was content to simply rest against him.  Yet he wanted to do more, had flown the night through to do so.  He kissed the crown of her head, lingering upon her softness, considering the things he wanted to tell her.  “Anni,” he said at last, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me…”

“Ben, no. Please.  Please don’t do that,” she asserted, “ _You_ have no reason to apologize.”

He sighed hard, unwilling to let himself off so easily, “Those pictures never would have come to light if not for my fame…”

Anni interrupted him again, “We’ll not go down that road, Benedict.”  Her tone was soft, but resolute.  “I knew you’d do this, and I won’t have it.”  When he drew breath to reply, she sat up to face him, the familiar crease—which always appeared when she was most determined—between her brow, “No.” 

“Alright,” he nodded, deciding the topic would bear revisiting another time, “alright, my dear.  As you wish.”

Careworn she was, yet Anni managed a small and lovely smile for his sake, before moving in to kiss him sweetly.  Eyes still closed, she rested her forehead against his and laid a hand aside his cheek.  “If you mean that—if you really do--would you grant me what I wish for most?” she asked at last, plaintive as a sad sigh.

Breathing her in, he gave the only answer possible to such a question. “Anything,” he murmured, “Everything.  Name it, love, and I will make it so.”

Anni hummed her assent, brushing her lips upon his mouth, to finally speak her wish a hairsbreadth from his lips, “Love me, Ben.  Show me that nothing’s changed between us.”  She was trembling in his arms, perhaps believing he might refuse her after all, and asking him to do--what was for him--the easiest thing in all the world, “If you still love me as before, then love me now.”

Moved by her plea, Benedict answered in less than a heartbeat, cupping her face in his hand, then tracing her lips with his thumb, “Believe me, Anni; I’ve never loved you more than I do right now.”

“Then show me,” she urged him, the ache in her voice so thick that he could taste it, “Show me that you want me still.  Prove that I’m still…oh, Ben…”  Her breath hitched before she could finish, “…prove to me I’m yours…”

If she had more to say, it went unspoken—for he was kissing her tenderly, responding to her need, as well as his own; kissing her mouth, her skin, the tracks of the tears his reply had wrung from her.  He was plunging his hands in her hair and claiming her just as she asked, forgoing the restraint he’d vowed--against the sharp need those damned photographs had awakened in him--to prove that Anni was _his_.

Anni let her head fall back, exhaling a long, heartfelt sigh as he trailed his fingertips along the side of her neck, while kissing his way to the hollow of her throat.  Well aware of her weakened state, Benedict strove ever to be gentle—slow and gentle and cautious--nothing like the rush they usually shared upon his homecomings.  How pliant she was, so soft and so willing, and when he loosened the sash of her bathrobe and slid his hand across the satin she wore beneath, to lovingly cup her breast, she gasped sharply, then exhaled softly beside his ear. “Don’t hold back, Ben,” she implored him, “I’m not going to break, you know.  I’m not made of glass…”

“My god, Anni,” he growled against her sweet, creamy skin, “you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.  And this.”  _And how worried I’ve been,_ he thought, without sharing, _feeling utterly useless, and too far away to help._

“Then show me, my love.  Please.”  Anni’s kisses had grown fevered, her hands firm and insistent on his shoulders, arms, chest; she burned in his embrace with quiet, but undeniable, desperation, “I need you _now_ , Ben.  Like I’ve never needed anyone before.”     

As ever was the way between them, Anni’s desire echoed his own. Answering all that she asked was as effortless—as just as vital to him--as breathing.  She was nuzzling his neck, raking her fingers through his hair, and he could feel her heart speed in time with his, where his palm rested between her breasts.  A beat strong enough to belie the vulnerability in her eyes, her voice, and in the small weight of her form pressed against his chest.  No, Anni would not break in his arms, despite her appearance of fragility; he could spend his passion upon her freely, and give her the love and reassurances which she had asked of him, and that would—beyond the delicious physical gratification--surely grant peace of mind to _both_ of them.

Benedict leaned back and shifted her in his arms, enough so he could cradle her face in his hands.  Her cheeks were flushed with a healthier color than when he arrived, her eyes already clearer, her lips parted in soft expectation.  He pressed his forehead to hers, smiling gravely.  “My sweet, sweet Anni,” he sighed, kissing her cheek.  “My beautiful girl,” he continued, kissing her other.  “My dearest Annika” he finished, laying a chaste kiss upon her mouth.  He pulled back just a moment to take her in—the silent invitation of her half-lidded eyes and open, waiting mouth, so warm and irresistible that he simply _had_ to bring it back to his.

Capturing her lips with his, kissing her deeply and fervently, any reticence Benedict had harbored for her sake fully foregone, he savored the slow dance of their tongues, and the little sounds of satisfaction Anni made into his mouth—only the first of those he hoped to have of her.  Panting between deeper kisses, Anni sucked hard on his lower lip, sending a surge of heat through his groin, and making him groan her name and move both hands beneath her robe.  “Oh yes…” she gasped, twining her fingers in his hair, “…yes, love me, Ben…please…”  She breathed a long, low moan when he palmed her breasts, the feel of her stiffened nipples through the cool cloth piquing his need to lose himself in loving her.  And still she entreated him, as though she feared he might actually turn her away, “Please, my love…take me…take all of me…show me you still want me the way that I want you…”

“ _Take me_ ”—the same simple words she had spoken that night of their beginning, and the dearest consent he had ever been given.  Words he treasured from the first, and every time she’d said them since--be it in the midst of intimacy, husky or couched in throaty moans—or as a whispered tease, delivered softly against his ear as the promise of loving to come, once they were finally alone and behind closed doors.  Taking her face in his hands again, he waited to speak until she opened her eyes.  “No power in the world could keep me from wanting you, Annika.”  She shivered when he drew her name out, as tender as a caress.  “And nothing-- _nothing_ , I promise you--will ever… _ever_ …keep me from needing you.”  To his relief, soft acceptance dawned first in her eyes, and then upon her face.  “Trust me, love,” he murmured, “I will always love you so.”

The rest was just an easy silence, rife with expectation of the comfort they would give to one another, until Benedict rose and offered her his hand.  Anni took it, laughing warmly when he pulled her to him and scooped her up into his arms, carrying her along as he swiftly closed the distance to her bedroom down the hall.

 

_(to be continued)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who've been my constant readers, I thank you once again for your indulgence--and for your patience, as this chapter seemed to take forever to complete! It's the longest I've ever taken since starting this story, and it left me feeling frustrated on many midnights in the past several weeks. Hopefully, you'll find it worth the wait; and hopefully, the chapter to follow will more than make up for this delay. I've a good portion of it already done, and I do believe it should turn out rather...yummy. So stay tuned, if you will, for better things to come for this loving pair.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love and comfort generously given. NSFW.

Entering her darkened bedroom, Benedict laid Anni across the unmade bed, moving away for only as long as it took to switch on the small lamp on the nightstand, and strip himself of his cardigan and the t-shirt he wore underneath. She watched him wide-eyed, a small, patient smile dimpling her cheeks, as he came to lean over her, parting her robe at the waist—humming appreciatively at finding her clothed beneath in a gift he’d gotten her on his last trip to the states, a vintage look, pale green lingerie set as soft and feminine as Anni herself—and knowing she’d worn it to please him exactly so.  He held her gaze while he traced his fingers along the curve of her hip and down her thigh, watching her first close her eyes, then nod her approval as he cupped his hand behind her knee, finally kneeling on the floor before her and sliding both hands in a slow caress down her calf, ending at her ankle.  Benedict rolled off her sock, to place gentle kisses on her instep.  Anni gasped a little, surprised and pleased, raising herself up on her elbows to watch him while he repeated his motions on her other leg.  She sighed as he kissed her other foot, and then she shrugged the robe from her shoulders while slowly leaning back upon the bed again, asking him not to stop, please don’t _ever_ stop.

The thin fabric of her camisole didn’t hide a thing, tempting him to reach up and rub his palms across the glossy cloth that covered her tightened nipples.  Anni whimpered, arching into his hands; he allowed them to linger, cupped against the toothsome fullness of her breasts, fighting the fierce urge to peel off her top and press his bare skin against hers.  Mastering himself, he trailed his hands downward instead, beckoned by the hot sliver of smooth flesh between the hem of her cami and the waistband of her knickers.  Benedict raked the material up, sliding his hands over the outline of her ribs, and then stroked the underside of her breasts with his thumbs while he kissed across her abdomen.  Her low moan drew his attention back to her face; the mix of bliss and mounting desire painted there nearly pulled him from his course, testing his will to hold himself back until he could lavish other pleasures upon her.  But he held firm, moving both hands to her waist, his lips now skimming across the satin and chiffon of her pants.

When he pulled her closer to where he knelt, so that her bottom rested near the edge of the bed, Anni tilted her pelvis upwards, anticipating what he had planned for her.  Although his blood raced with wanting her, Benedict tempered his own desires, eager to give her everything she deserved—physical proof of his love, of his devotion, of his continued faith in her--for though he knew her to be his from the first time they had made love, he would never tire of winning her heart to him again and again.  Despite the scandal at their door, and the certain coming gossip and insinuations, they belonged to one another for good and for all now—and he planned to prove it in deeds as much as in words.

The fabric covering her sex was already damp with the familiar, enticing scent of her arousal; he licked his lips, craving the taste of her and knowing full well he would soon have her wetter still.  Anni’s thighs were slightly parted; as he brushed his lips down to the delicious triangle formed at their juncture, Benedict traced his fingers upon their firm flesh, so that she relaxed them further apart.  He began drawing his fingertips across the skimpy satin covering her mound; again and again, just light, steady strokes, but enough to make her moan again and move against him, seeking firmer contact.

“Ohhhh…mmm…,” she purred in the throaty voice that he adored, “Oh, Ben…that’s…ahhhh…niiiicccce…”

He looked up at her, smiling wickedly, “Nice, baby?  Only nice?”  He exhaled hot breath against the damp material, eliciting another low moan. “I can promise you better than that.”   In proof of his words, he bent back to her sweet spot, pressing his lips hard against that succulent bundle of nerves awaiting his attention, making Anni shiver and cry out breathlessly.

Yet he wanted to take his time, wanted to wring every moment of pleasure--for Anni—that he possibly could from this act of love.  He was a little greedy, in a way he’d never speak aloud; greedy to assert himself as pleasure-giver, greedy to prove she was his, only his--just as she had begged him to do.  Benedict coveted each heartfelt moan, and how she moved against him, opening herself to him; coveted the way she writhed as he touched and teased her, nuzzled and kissed her, the fabric there no barrier to her satisfaction.  Yes, he was greedy; greedy to erase the flickering images that those photographs had birthed in his mind’s eye, and that haunted him despite his best intentions.  Images of his Anni beneath Jeremy, her legs locked around his waist as he took her on that Italian beach at midnight, or of her riding him, skin slick with their mingled sweat and carelessly wanton as she climaxed.  Even images of her satisfied and sleeping, cradled in Jeremy’s arms in the aftermath of passion.  Loving her like this, worshiping Anni as she deserved, he was also exorcising that demon jealousy and promising himself he would never feel this way again.

He worked her slowly, stroking and kissing her inner thighs, and playing with her through her satin with his fingers and his mouth, building such luscious tension that she was taut as the string on a bow, straining towards release.  His own need throbbed heavily, confined inside his jeans, and aching hotly as well, but Benedict found his desire to please her enough to hold his lust at bay a while longer.  And Anni was blessedly close now; so close that only a little more and she would reach her peak, to lift her hips in orgasmic spasms, fisting the sheets in her hands and pressing her head back into the mattress while she moaned her consummation.  Hungry to bring her to fruition, he centered his mouth over her clitoris, sucking relentlessly despite the cloth between them, while flattening his tongue hard against it until she came at last; came hard and crying out inarticulately, rigid in the throes, and then falling limp and spent, panting softly—and obviously, keenly satisfied.     

Benedict watched Anni come down from her high, mesmerized by her languid beauty and the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing deepened and evened out.  She stretched a bit and passed one hand across her brow, sliding her fingers through her hair, and finally opening her eyes and humming contently.  Anni reached for him with her other hand, wordlessly inviting him to lie with her.  Benedict moved to lay on his side next to her, propped up on his elbow, his face hovering above hers.  “Was that _nice_ enough for you, love?” he asked, smiling and already sure of her answer.

Anni looked up at him, nodding, “Mmmmm, yes. It was…” She sighed, clearly content, “…heavenly, my darling.”  She traced his jaw lovingly, “And exactly what I needed.”

“Well, I’m nowhere near done with you, my sweet.”  Benedict paused, cupping his hand against hers and drawing it to his lips, then whispering tenderly, “My precious, beautiful Annika.”  He took his time, pressing slow kisses onto her palm and the pulse point of her wrist, and softly grazing the tender flesh there with his teeth.  He felt her happiness as a satisfying warmth in his chest--exactly what _he_ had been needing in those tortuously long hours of separation as he strove to reach her side.    

She breathed hard, eyes grown wide, and moistened her lips, looking a little dazed—and very willing.  “Just what might you have in mind, sir?  Anni lifted her chin, challenging him.

Benedict leaned in to kiss her, slow and open mouthed, relishing how readily she yielded to him as he deepened the kiss, her tongue cleaving to his while she moaned softly in response.  When he broke the kiss, she raised her face closer, whimpering for more while he held his lips just out of reach.  “I thought a bit of this,” he murmured, teasing her with a mere brush of his lips on hers, “and then perhaps, a bit of that…”  He moved his mouth across her cheek, barely touching his lips to her skin, his breath warming a path from her cheek along her jawline to beneath her ear, finally landing moist, full kisses upon her neck and throat.

Anni craned her neck a bit, offering herself for more, while trilling her delight, “Mmmm, I love the way you think, Ben.”  She drew a long, deep breath, sliding one hand up his arm to his shoulder and the other to the nape of his neck, her fingers so cool against his fevered skin, they sent shivers of longing down his spine; longing for her most intimate touches, and to loose himself inside of her.

From the tender hollow of her throat, Benedict kissed all along her collarbone and back again, answering his own hot desire with cool restraint—for still he wished to please Anni first, and prove she needn’t fear he could love her any less.  She gasped when he finally cupped her breast through her camisole, and moments later was beseeching him, “Help me out of this. Please, Ben.  I need to feel your skin on mine…”  Fulfilling her wish, he pulled it over her head, pausing above her to savor the lovely sight of her stiffened nipples, turned ruddy with her growing excitement.  As ever, Benedict found himself amazed that Anni _was_ truly his; every inch of her his, and in every way imaginable.

Moaning her impatience for skin on skin, Anni pulled him to lie atop her, and rooted both hands in his hair to pull his face close and bring his mouth to hers.  Her hands roamed his flesh; shoulders and back, then down to his waist, making him kiss her hard, and then moan himself when she slid her fingers inside the waistband of his jeans.  He felt her smile at his response, and then her hands were working his zipper, intending to free him.  “No,” he said gruffly, as he swallowed back his own hard desire to feel her cool fingers temper the heat of his erection, “Not that, baby.  Not quite yet.”

She mewled her disappointment, clearly reluctant as she stilled her questing fingers.  His seeming rebuff left her pouting, a frustrated crease burgeoning between her brows—the effect so adorable that he couldn’t restrain an indulgent smile, gently adding, “If I can be patient, love, then I know you can be too.”

Anni blinked slowly and drew a little acquiescent sigh, teasing him by running a few defiant fingertips inside his pants, brushing along the edge of his pubic bone--a palpable reminder of his choice to delay his own gratification—and then slowly slid her hands up his sides, to rest them lightly on his biceps.  Gazing up at him, she remained silent, the arch of her brow and the fullness her parted, kiss-swollen lips the insouciant invitation to whatever further play he had in mind.

Gingerly tracing her lips, then along her throat—watching as she closed her eyes and succumbed to his touch—and then trailing his fingers softly down to fondle one breast, Benedict then lowered his mouth to the other.  Anni gasped as he nuzzled and kissed her, dancing his tongue upon her areola before taking the raised bud of her nipple fully in his mouth.  She whimpered as he drew upon her, crying out a mix of pleasure and greed for more when he popped it from his mouth--but only so that he might serve the same sensuous treatment to her other breast.  Held tight beneath him, Anni dug her fingers into his flesh, panting her delight; it was all she _could_ do as he worked his will upon her.

Relentless in his desire to please her, he made his way down her breast bone, delivering hungry, hot-breathed kisses across her belly and pelvis—that dear flesh he knew and loved so well--peeling her pants down a little at a time, until she broke, and begged him to remove them.  And still he teased her, pacing himself, sliding his large hands inside her knickers to cup her smooth bottom, gently at first, his grip growing firmer until she implored him to tear the damn things off of her.  When he tugged them all the way off, discarding them on the floor, Anni breathed a long, relieved sigh, rolling her head to the side and giving herself over to him completely.  Benedict lifted his eyes, from his place between her thighs, reading in the line of her jaw, in the part of her lips, in the slack plane of her cheek, her total submission.  His dear, lovely Annika, finally fully nude, fully aroused, and fully ready for whatever he wanted.

Thus, a second time he took her with his mouth and tongue, pausing to look up at her from time to time, to watch her breathing raggedly, to see her naked beauty and sweet vulnerability, knowing she was completely his—and that his heart was marked forever as her own.  When he slid two fingers past her slick opening, only the beginning of how he planned to stretch and then to fill her in the many coming hours, Anni keened sharply and bucked hard against him.  Tangling her fingers in his hair and tugging hard at the roots in her need, she soon caught onto the rhythm that he lead and rocked her pelvis in perfect time. 

Benedict read her well, certain he could set her off like a firework, but still wanting to take his time with her; to bring her near to her climax, only to draw back a bit, before moving her closer; varying his motions, lightening his penetration for a time and then increasing the pressure, and coming back again and again to her exquisite little nub, that secret, sensitive bit of flesh and clustered nerves, engorged and ripe from his loving play with her.  Equal desire for satisfaction seared through his belly, his loins, his balls and the hard shaft of his cock; he knew once stripped himself, he’d plunge inside her and spend himself remorselessly in only moments.  But first he wanted-- _needed_ —to taste her when she came, taste her most intimately, cherishing the knowledge that no man had ever tasted her in this way that was solely _his_ privilege.

Holding and kneading her from beneath, stroking her folds with the pad of his thumb, insistently darting the tip of his tongue against her sweet bud, he exalted at last in hearing Anni call his name again and again, moaning loudly as the waves of her pleasure reached their crest—and with her voice growing hoarse, declare her love for him repeatedly. 

Gentle once more, as she settled and stilled, Benedict eased himself away from their intimate connection, astonished by the power of their bond.  Overwhelmed by the tenderness filling his soul.  Ignoring his own need for release, wanting only to hold Anni in the most fundamental way.  She reached for him too, her face flushed and damp, curling into his ready arms—the flood of tears she let soak his skin, equal parts relief for his proof of love, testament of her abiding love for him, and grief for the canker that had tried—and failed--to insinuate itself between them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Seriously, please let me know if this was...over the top. Sometimes I fear I've lost a necessary sense of perspective. Thanks!)


	25. Chapter 25

Refreshed in both mind and body from his hours of sleep, Benedict awoke with his heart lighter than it had been in what felt like ages, and knowing he was exactly where he was meant to be.  Anni still slept soundly, her head snug against his chest, one of her hands resting lightly over his heart.  Also exactly as things were meant to be.

She had sobbed her fill, the pain she had tried so hard to conceal from him when he’d been an ocean away, finally spilling forth, until she had quieted and Benedict believed she must have no more tears to spare for the whole regrettable affair.  How soft she was, as she clung tightly to him, and that would have been enough for him—but she soon sought further healing, spoiling him with passionate kisses and loving caresses, and moving upon his body in the ways she knew would please him best.  Hungry to satisfy him, stripping him bare and building him to exquisite heat, then taking him deeply inside her; their heat meeting, combining and peaking gloriously, until he spilled forth, nearly growling with the joy of it.  Their sweet fire banked to embers, they lay entwined beneath the sheets--all that they had done together in flesh and deed, enough to set Anni’s heart free of any fear that he would put her aside, and putting done to the immodest images which Benedict had thought were mercilessly burned into his mind’s eye forever.  

Now he eased her out of his arms, not wishing to wake her, and then reached for his jeans, pulling his mobile from his pocket to check the time.  Late morning, which was fine; Anni normally had Friday off, so they would have the whole day together.  Plenty of time to talk and to decide on the best way to address the mess of questions that awaited them outside her door. 

Checking his voicemail and incoming texts, Benedict was not surprised to find among his many messages, several from his publicist.  He’d need to call her then, as well as the friends anxious for him about the scandal; and most importantly, return his father’s call.  That he couldn’t do until he had a better idea of how the story was playing in the media, and to learn that, he needed to speak to Karon first.  He rose quietly from Anni’s side, pulled on his pants and t-shirt, and slipped into the little hallway to make his calls.

* * *

 

Annika woke to find Benedict gone, but after all they’d shared in the previous hours, she was confident he hadn’t left her flat.  She yawned and stretched, sore in the most heavenly of ways, humming appreciatively in recollection of the loving they had shared and feeling hopeful for their future after those sad, endless hours of shame and fear.  Her appetite announced itself with a loud rumble, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten a proper meal for days; if Ben hadn’t started breakfast yet, Anni decided a feast of his favorites was in order.  She grabbed her robe, eager to make a start of the day, secure in the knowledge that his love for her remained as true as ever.

She found him in her kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a brunch of eggs, bacon and toast, tea already brewed so that he had poured himself a cuppa.  His smile when he saw her was the sunshine she’d been missing in the week that he’d been gone, and she couldn’t help but rush into his arms and pepper his cheek and neck with happy kisses.  “Well good morning to you to, love,” he laughed, catching her face in his hands to plant kisses on her forehead, her nose, and then her mouth, “Hungry?”

“Starved…and everything smells wonderful.”

“Then let’s tuck in,”  He led her to the kitchen island and pulled out a stool, saw her seated and grabbed her empty plate, loading it with a bit of everything before setting it before her.  “I expect you to eat every bite, _and_ come back for seconds—understood?”

 Anni nodded, ready with a saucy reply, but left it silent on her tongue; looking up at him, soaking in the honest beauty of his features—beauty she knew came as much from his innate light, as from the luck of his exceptional genes—she was left breathless with wonder, marveling for the hundredth time that he chose to make her a part of his life.  Despite all her flaws and her foolish mistakes, and well beyond good, common sense, Benedict loved her patiently, unreservedly and completely.  Somehow, he believed in her in ways she never had herself, and she vowed in that moment to do whatever was needed to justify his faith in her—and protect him, if need be, from any harm his career might suffer on her account.

He waited briefly before broaching the difficult topic begging their attention, perhaps encouraged by the healthy return of her appetite.  “We do need to talk, Annika.  We need to figure out how to address this, uh…”  She could see he wanted to remain positive, looking for the gentlest way of putting things.  “This, uh…this situation.  Things are bound to get dicey in the coming days, and as much as I’d love for us to just hunker down here until it passes, that’s not really an option.”

She laid her fork down, bowing her head, bracing herself for this most necessary conversation by the warm memories of the hours past, then looked back to him, “Anything you need, Ben.  You can count on me.”

The corners of his mouth creased with a quiet, indulgent smile, “I’ve never doubted that I could, honey.”  Despite his small smile, his tone was serious, though as gentle with her as always, “First off, Karon wants to see the both of us this afternoon—I assume you have the day off, as usual?”

Doing her best to restrain the bitterness his question stirred in her, Anni gave a brittle huff of a laugh, “You _could_ say that’s the case.  I’ve got a wealth off days of at the moment.”  Perplexed, he narrowed his eyes, and the dear little crinkle at the bridge of his nose—as adorable to her as ever—made her long to kiss his concern away.  “I’ve, uh…I’ve been put on,” she mimed quotation marks, “… _‘indefinite, unpaid leave’_ …”

“That’s total bollocks,” he exclaimed, “They actually fired you?”  Anni simply nodded in reply.  Angry on her behalf, he cursed again, under his breath, before asking, “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference in how everything played out,” she shrugged, “And you’d still be a half a world away, feeling even worse for me, and frustrated that you couldn’t be here to fix it.” 

Benedict pursed his lips, trying not to smile, “How well you know me, Anni.”  He enclosed her hand in his, its warmth and strength sending a little thrill of happiness to the center of her chest.  Yes, this was exactly what she expected of him—and counted on him for, given the depth of their commitment to one another.  “Well, you’ve no reason to protect me now, love—and I want to know _everything_ that’s happened since those photos broke.  All the details—and please, don’t hold back.”

Anni sipped her tea, swirling the remainder in her cup before setting it back in its saucer.  “Alright then,” she told him, taking a deep, preparatory breath, “Truth be told, Ben, things went tits up faster than you can imagine.  Wednesday morning around nine, I stepped out the door of your flat, planning to take the tube to the restaurant and…well, there were a good dozen reporters outside your place.”  She gazed steadily into his eyes, drawing strength from their warmth and constancy.  “I don’t know if they were even aware you weren’t home, or if they just figured I might be there, but they were waiting there as though they expected one of us to come out of that door.  I was shocked, especially to hear them call me by name.  I knew I couldn’t turn tail and go back inside, so I tried to keep calm and politely pass through the lot of them—but they weren’t having that.”  She lifted her cup to finish the dregs, hoping to calm the tremor in her voice; she would _not_ show him weakness in this matter, or raise his additional worry on her behalf.  “Well, I did my best to ignore them anyway, excusing myself as I worked to get by them…but then some of them were waving pictures at me…pictures of _me_ , Ben...pictures that no one in the world had the right to see.  I didn’t even guess at the time that Jeremy had _sold_ them to that Italian magazine.  Sold them—as though they meant nothing to him…as though _I_ meant nothing to him…”

He squeezed her hand gently, encouraging her past the sour lump in her throat that formed there at the thought of Jeremy’s betrayal.  Anni focused on Benedict’s face, the sympathy and ready understanding in his eyes, the solemn, loving patience in the set of his brow and his jaw, in the very lines and angles of his features.  She nodded again and gave him the wisp of a smile, ready to continue her story.  “Somehow I just walked on through.  I thought once I reached the underground, I’d leave them behind, but…but some of them followed me.  And that _wa_ s frightening, let me tell you.  They seemed singularly determined to get my reaction, trailing me from car to car, but I refused to look back, and eventually they…well, I suppose they gave up.” 

“Oh god, Anni…” Benedict shook his head, sighing hard, “I’m so sorry about all of this.  Those pictures wouldn’t have been an issue if…”

“No…Ben, please don’t,” she interjected, “I mean it with all my heart—you have no blame in this.  And I know you love me enough to want to bear this burden for me, but you can’t.”  She traced the fingers of her free hand along his jawline, softening her tone, “This is all the result of a very foolish choice that _I_ made…a couple of choices, really.”  She took a moment, brushing her fingertips against his lips, so that he kissed them lightly. “Foolish choices I wish with all my heart I could take back.  As much for your sake as for my own.”

“Please don’t be so hard on yourself, love—especially on my account.  Although I wish you had told me about this sooner, you couldn’t have imagined anything like this happening.”  Benedict tucked a swath of her hair behind her ear, then rested his hand on her shoulder, soothing her quietly.  “So what happened once you reached the restaurant?”

“Things…things got worse.”  She closed her eyes, picturing the sight that met her at the restaurant, then looked back to him.  “There were more of them outside, waiting just for me.  Turned out my managers had to bar them from entering, they’d made such a nuisance of themselves.”  Anni laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and painful in the quiet of her kitchen, “The whole staff knew about it; knew everything, had seen everything, before _I_ even fully understood what had happened.  And, of course, my supervisor called me right into the office.” 

“I suppose I guessed what was coming next, before they even said a word.  It was…inevitable.”  She sighed, resigned to her fate.  “They told me they couldn’t afford to have this…this sort of circus interrupting business.  And that it could drive away customers with children, once it was public knowledge that someone like me worked there…”

“Someone like _you_? That’s ridiculous,” he scowled, “Utterly ridiculous…”

Relieved to hear someone say it out loud at last—to know she wasn’t alone in thinking she didn’t deserve the treatment she’d received—Anni blinked back the tears which threatened to undo her calm.  “Well, they put me on unpaid leave _‘until the controversy is well past_ ’. Indefinite, unpaid leave,” she reiterated, “which, of course, really means that I’ve been sacked.”

Benedict cursed harshly, then bit his lip against further exclamation.  “That can’t be valid grounds for letting you go.”

“Valid or not, Ben, it’s done.  And frankly, right now, I don’t have the will or the strength to fight them on this.”  He looked so grave that Anni tried to smile, to lighten the moment, “In retrospect, I’ve been thinking a career change was in order anyway.  You know--one of those ‘when a door closes, a window opens’ kind of thing…”

The steel in his voice matched the ire clouding his brow, “We’ll see about that, Annika.  Even if you don’t go back…in fact, they don’t deserve you, not by a long shot ; I’d rather you never set foot in that place ever again…I want my lawyers to check on the legality of what they’ve done.”  She had only ever seen him _playing_ this kind of anger on screen, and a small corner of her heart was quietly pleased to know he was so moved on her behalf.  “And that fuckwit Jeremy?  He’ll never screw with you again, I promise.  I’ll bet we’ve a good case for defamation of character for what he’s done, and I won’t rest until we bring the full force of Italian justice to bear down on him.”

“You’ll fight for my honor, will you, like a _chevalier_ in some gothic romance novel?”  Wide-eyed, Anni watched his expression change from furious to sheepish as he realized his fervor had inched a mite past ridiculous.

Running his free hand through his rumpled hair—a simple habit of his which never failed to make Anni go a little weak inside—Benedict chuckled, “Alright, I’ll do my best not to go too far over the top.” Though he smiled, the gleam in his eyes was still serious. “But you’re more than just my sweet girl, Annika Marie Grayson.  You’re…you’re the woman I’ve waited a lifetime for, and the brightest part of any future I can envision for myself--and I will not suffer that knobhead to hurt you again.  Nor any other tosser who tries to bully you—especially when they target you because of my fame.”

Touched by his passion, thrilled to hear him speak of them having a future together despite the ugliness they might have to face once they left the sanctuary of her flat, Anni took his face in both her hands, kissing him warmly.  “You’re the best man in all the world, my dearest, beautiful Ben” she told him, bussing his lips several times more, then trailing kisses across his cheek, “You have all my faith and all my heart, and I’ll be happy to leave defending my honour in your very large, strong and entirely capable hands—so long as, if the need should ever arise, you’ll let me do my share in fighting for you.”

* * *

 

 

They caught a bit of luck, leaving Anni’s building; in typical, mid-November fashion, the day was damp, and chilling to the bone, with rain enough to discourage even the most dogged among the paparazzi from loitering in wait for them.  The car which Karon had sent idled along the curb, and Benedict and Anni were swiftly on their way to his publicist’s office in North London.

Anni seemed calm--if a bit pensive--remaining quiet as they made their way across the city, her hand tucked neatly in his.  He felt remarkably relaxed himself; clear-headed after days stuck in a miasma of worry and doubt, and certain he was prepared for whatever Karon might throw their way.

The reception area was empty except for the receptionist manning the desk and the phones.  In the middle of a call, she gave them a nod as they approached, mouthing “you can go ahead in” with a tilt of her head towards Karon’s door.  Benedict rapped lightly on the door nevertheless, and Karon answered quickly, summoning them in.  She rose from her chair behind her desk to greet them.

Hellos exchanged Karon, directed them to the leather couch, then crossed to the door, “I can have Rose get you something…coffee, tea.  Water perhaps?”  She paused a moment, then addressed him pointedly, “Or maybe something a little stronger, Benedict?”

Benedict looked to Anni; she had withdrawn into herself, anticipating the tense conversation to come.  He placed a reassuring hand on her thigh, so that she looked into his eyes.  “Water for the both of us, thanks,” he replied, his gaze fixed on Anni.  Karon popped her head through the door, addressing her request to the young woman at reception desk, who delivered their drinks, withdrawing silently and closing the door behind her.

Anni took a long swallow from her bottle, then turned her eyes to Karon, ready to meet her questions and very serious concerns.  Karon didn't hesitate to begin their conversation.  “So, tell me Anni, please,” she said gently, “how in hell did this happen?”

* * *

 

With growing confidence, Anni told her tale, relating the necessary facts only—there being no need to confess aloud the pain which Jeremy’s betrayal had caused her.  Benedict was pleased there was no note of apology in her voice, and that she needed no prompting to tell it in full.

Karon had listened intently, nodding from time to time, her attention riveted on Anni.  Benedict wished he could tell what Karon was thinking, but he couldn’t read a clue in her passive expression.  She leaned forward when it was clear that Anni had finished her story, addressing her comments to him, “This Jeremy—you’ve met him?”

“Yes. Once. Several weeks ago. Absolute wanker.” He watched as the wheels turned in Karon’s mind, “Is that important?”

“Dunno yet—but I need to know everything about your interaction with him.  I don’t want any surprises coming out in the papers if we choose to take legal action against him.”  She huffed, turning suddenly stern as she told Anni, “This sort of blindside _cannot_ happen again, Annika. Do you understand?”

“Of course…of course I do,” she replied, surprised at the ire so suddenly directed her way, “I swear to you, that’s the whole of it.”

 “Yes, well, you’ve said as much before, and it turned out to be not quite true, didn’t it?”

 Dumbfounded by Karon’s hostility, Benedict had to speak up, “Now hold on, Karon…”

"No, Ben.  Just because you love her doesn’t mean she gets a free pass,” she answered harshly, before refocusing on Anni, “Benedict’s public image may have taken a huge hit because of the secret you failed to share, when I asked you directly if you had any dirty laundry hidden away.  You lied to me then, which has kept me from doing my job properly—and the timing of this revelation couldn’t be worse…”

“Goddammit, Karon, that will be enough!  She couldn’t have foreseen any of this happening.”  Benedict glared at Karon, angry and shocked at her vehemence.

“Perhaps not—but I could’ve, if I’d been armed with the truth!”

He opened his mouth to further protest, but Anni laid a firm hand on his arm, “It’s okay, Ben.  I can speak for myself. I’ve got this”  Perched on the edge of the sofa cushion, back straight, chin raised in defiance, she flashed with the fire he knew lived inside her, “I understand, Ms. Maskill, how royally I’ve fucked up.  I was stupid and naïve, and I understand the terrible cost of it.”  She took a deep breath, her eyes narrowed in anger, “But I promise you that I will _never_ make that mistake again—and I will do _whatever_ it takes to make things right for Benedict.”  She turned to him, her voice soft with all she felt for him, “Even if it means walking away for a time, I’ll do it.”

He shook his head, ready to deny the need for such a thing, when Karon made her unexpected reply, “That won’t be necessary, Anni.  I believe you.  I just needed to see how far you had to be pushed before you bit back.”  She nodded, smiling with satisfaction, “I can work with this.  As long as there are no more secrets, we can get through this singed, but far from burned.”

* * *

 

In the end, they shared the telling of the details of Jeremy’s surprise visit to Anni’s flat, Karon listening attentively, and not at all shocked at Benedict’s peppering his commentary with coarse language and repeated wishes for a chance to wring the young man’s neck.  And knowing it was necessary, Anni finally revealed the secret of her miscarriage—which evoked sympathetic tears from his pragmatic publicist. 

Concluding that sad story, Benedict added, “We’d prefer that information remain confidential, Karon.  Anni will not be made to relive that pain for the public to see; that point is immutable.”

“Of course, Ben.  I wouldn’t dream of sharing that information.  However,” she continued cautiously, “It’s likely a matter of public record with that birth certificate issued, so as much as I will protect your privacy, Anni, there may come some enterprising reporter who does extensive research.  Or friends of yours—or Jeremy himself—may blab to the press if given…financial motivation.”

Anni bowed her head, “I understand.”  She took his hand in both of hers, “And if that’s the case, we’ll face it together.”  She smiled at Karon, assuring her, “Ben has been the best cure for the pain of that part of my life. And I’ll be proud to declare _that_ to the world.” 

“One last question, though,” Karon added, “Has Jeremy threatened either one of you in any way?  I’ve got my people looking into both civil and criminal claims of defamation under Italian law; any threat he’s addressed to you would bolster that case immensely.”   

“Actually,” Anni said, releasing his hand to reach into her purse and pull out an envelope, “There was this.”  She handed it to Benedict first, “I found it slid under my door, Thursday morning.”

He studied the envelope a moment, noting there was no return address or postmark, meaning Jeremy (or someone he’d put up to it) had been in her building sometime overnight.  “ _Annika_ ” was written in spidery looking print across the front.  Alarmed, he flipped it over; she had already broken the seal, enabling him to pull the single sheet of paper from inside.  He scanned it quickly, then looked back to Anni, “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

She shrugged a little sheepishly, and bit her lip, blushing faintly, “I didn’t think to, love.  You sort of…distracted me this morning, you know.” 

He smiled crookedly in reply, and then passed the letter over to Karon.  It was mercifully brief, with no salutation:

 “ _Well, I guess I fixed you good. You and your smarmy, posh boyfriend_.”

 There was a gap, and then another single line:

_“Let’s see how much he wants you now.”_

“Anni, you’re not staying at your flat another night,” he admonished her, “I won’t take no for an answer.  And you’re going to let me hire a body guard to look after you when I’m away.”  He softened when she met his eyes, “I know you need to keep your independence, love, but your safety and well-being is my highest priority.  He’s clearly unbalanced and consumed with jealousy, and I won’t have him within a hundred yards of you.”  He looked to Karon, “Will that be enough to get a restraining order?”

“I’ll check on it right away, Benedict,” she answered, as determined it seemed, as he was to see to Anni’s safety, “And I’ll have a list of the best--and most discreet--candidates for the bodyguard position, ready for you within the hour.”

 Stunned by the intensity of their resolve, Anni simply nodded to each thing on their list of stipulations and precautions.  As the couple finally headed for the door, Karon placed an arm around her shoulder, “No need to worry, dear.  Leave it to the professionals.  I’ll have a statement out to the press by this evening—and trust this man beside you.”  She leaned close to add a whispered, parting compliment, “I’ve never seen him happier—and he _deserves_ the sort of love I see in your eyes every time you look at him.  None of this nonsense can ever cast a shadow on that, not if you remain the sweet, gentle soul that has so arrested his heart.”

Anni surprised even herself, gratefully embracing Karon, and thanking her softly, before she and Benedict slipped from the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Thanks for your patience, Kind Reader, and for sticking with Anni & Ben's story...and for sticking with me! <3 )


End file.
